


A Little Place in the Country

by die_traumerei



Series: Renovations Isn't Just a Metaphor [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (but never for long!), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Principality of Queer People, But they try, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is happy, Cuddling & Snuggling, Disability, Disabled!Crowley, Dorks in Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Genderqueer Character, Genderqueer Crowley, London, Love, Major Character Injury, Original Character(s), Other, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), renovation porn, soft, soft butch aziraphale, spoiled Aziraphale, they get a house in the country, this old house it isn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:26:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 124,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21709705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: Wanting a change, Crowley and Aziraphale decide to buy a place in the country and fix it up. It goes exactly the way you'd think, and exactly opposite of the way they thought.(Featuring a female-presenting Aziraphale and a Crowley who experiments a lot with gender. Also, a lot of discussion on drywall.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Renovations Isn't Just a Metaphor [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723783
Comments: 474
Kudos: 257





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was touched off when I knew I wanted to write non-male-presenting A&C, and someone on Tumblr suggested to me that they should get a house in the country and fix it up the human way, which is my own actual personal human dream for myself, so how could I resist?
> 
> Note that both characters change their gender presentation, Crowley more than once, and I change pronouns as they do. It's all bit fuzzy, though, really.

“Well that was stupid,” Crowley announced.

“I think it's sweet,” Aziraphale told her. “And so do you.”

“I really, really don't,” Crowley said. “It's also not that poignant. She even says herself her hair's going to grow back. So he's the only one out, really. Unless she decides she likes short hair.” She considered this. “I like short hair.”

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale said, paging idly through the book he was reading aloud from. “The big, bad demon definitely is not charmed by O. Henry's most famous short story.”

“Not when it's about stupid people!” Crowley protested.

“They're not stupid, they wanted to do nice things for each other. And I think that's lovely,”Aziraphale declared, finally closing the book.

“You're done reading?” Crowley asked sadly.

Aziraphale set his spectacles aside and rolled his eyes. “You're the one that doesn't like stories about stupid people and/or stories with clever twists, apparently. By that metric, you definitely hate this author's entire oeuvre.”

“Yeah, but I like it when you read out loud. You do all the voices and everything.” Crowley twisted herself around on the sofa, wriggling about to lie even more haphazardly. She wound up with her skirt hitched up around her hips, one leg over the back of the sofa, the other folded back so her calf tucked behind her shoulder, and her torso almost but not quite upside-down, nearly slithering off of the sofa. She smiled at the silhouette of her upraised very high heel against the afternoon sunlight seeping into the back room of the bookshop.

“Good _Lord_ ,” Aziraphale muttered, but he was smiling as he looked at her. “Are you comfortable?”

“Very,” Crowley said, giving a happy little wriggle.

“Well, that's all right then.” Aziraphale said, and sighed. “My apologies, dear. I'll find something else to read in a bit. Just feeling restless, I think.”

“Ugh, yes,” Crowley said. “I'm not complaining, mind.”

“Certainly not,” Aziraphale agreed, getting up and roaming around the shop a bit, not sure what he was looking for. “Quite pleased to be retired and all.”

“Mmm.” Crowley admired her legs, wriggled her toes, and contemplated her life. There really _wasn't_ anything to complain about. She still had all her demonic powers still in place, Hell and Heaven were terrified and avoiding them both. They had all the time in the world, now, thanks to Adam. She even had the Bentley back. And Aziraphale.

Aziraphale, who was everything she had ever wanted and so many things she hadn't known she would need. Best friend turned...well, they weren't lovers, having exactly zero interest in sex (and Crowley actually went a bit less than zero, thanks for asking), but they were _them_ . They shared a bed, and lives, and Crowley was regularly hugged and kissed and cuddled to within an inch of her life. And in return, Aziraphale accepted love and gifts and tenderness, returned them a thousandfold, and he _glowed_ , in a way he never had before.

Crowley tried not to think about what had happened to dim that angelic glow. And if she started to, she got up and found Aziraphale and kissed him, or took him out for lunch, or took a nap, head pillowed on his tummy like she'd dreamed of for _centuries_.

Hm, well, there was an idea to pass the time.

“That's it!” Aziraphale's head poked around a bookshelf, one finger upraised like the enormous dork that he was.

“Hm?” Crowley asked, only lightly distracted from using the love of her life as a kind of full-body pillow.

“Crowley, I know what's wrong with me. Us. You're itchy and too big for your skin too, right?”

Crowley, who was on her third iteration of breasts for the day, looked down at the tattoos she'd given herself over the course of the last week, fading them as she got bored and replacing them with new ones. The less said about her current hairstyle, the better, she thought. Though to be fair, she didn't stand out one bit in Soho.

“I think so,” she admitted, and poked at one breast, curious what she'd look like a cup size up. Huh. Interesting.

Aziraphale nodded. “Oh, that's lovely by the way,” he added. He said that in response to anything Crowley did with her body lately. And it wasn't rote, he _meant_ it, bless him.

“Anyway, we need a _change_ ,” Aziraphale said in a voice that sent a thrill of alarm running through Crowley's heart. _Obviously_ she wasn't afraid Aziraphale was going to call this whole thing off, or anything stupid like that, that was a very stupid thing to think. Which she hadn't. They were together and going to stay that way. Just. What kind of a change would be good enough for their new life?

“Let's buy a house and fix it up,” Crowley said, almost without thinking. “Together.”

And oh, blimey, there was that glow that pulled her in like a moth. But moths died in firelight, didn't they? And Crowley only basked. Ate up all the love, and wrapped it around her, selfish demon that she was.

“Oh my dear! What a smashing idea.” Aziraphale was grinning, the huge grin that made the corners of his eyes crinkle, and he folded his hands in front of him in delight, and what was Crowley going to do, just _stare_ at him?

She flipped neatly off of the sofa and crossed the few steps to Aziraphale, slipping into his arms. Crowley was a few inches taller than him in her heels, and she laughed when he rested his head against her shoulder.

“I love you,” Aziraphale said, like it was the easiest thing in the world to do and say. What even were angels. “How clever you are. Oh! We should do all the renovations ourselves! No miracles. That'll make it more human.” He considered for a moment. “Well, more fun anyway.”

“Hm.” Well, it was certainly an idea. “Not the electric and plumbing,” Crowley said. Some basic health and safety rules wouldn't hurt them any. They really needed to be careful of these corporations, no guarantees either of them would get another.

“Quite right, we've got to get someone else for that,” Aziraphale agreed. “Hire a local and all that. But everything else.” He smiled dreamily. “We can go to salvagers. And antique shops. And anything else you like,” he said generously. “Modern...things.”

Well, a quick pop into John Lewis never hurt anyone, Crowley thought, loath to admit that she actually quite liked Aziraphale's style. There was something comforting about being surrounded by things from so many different times and places they'd lived through. “We'll figure it out as we go along,” she said. “See what the house wants. Where shall we buy?”

“Not in London,” Aziraphale said firmly. “A nice village somewhere.”

Crowley nodded, picturing Aziraphale a country gent. She couldn't quite decide if he'd basically been grown in a vat for the role, or would be an hilariously out of place city mouse. Maybe both. They _had_ lived outside of cities before, it wouldn't be completely new. Just...new this century. Last couple of centuries, actually.

Maybe longer. But they'd certainly visited rural villages, recently even, and Crowley was confident that they were up to the task!

“Exactly,” she said, with far more surety than she felt. Village life would suit them both. And it would be quiet. She maybe wanted a little quiet in her life.

Aziraphale nodded, his jaw set and expression resolute. “Renovations,” he said, and smiled up at Crowley. “Now that's a very good idea.” He snapped his fingers, and Crowley watched his body change with great curiosity. Aziraphale so rarely presented as anything other than male, if one unconstrained by gender diktats, it was always of extra interest when he went off playing with gender.

This time there wasn't much change, at least not that Aziraphale's clothes showed. But definitely enough to go from male- to female-presenting, although Crowley would bet money that there wasn't any kind of Effort. She knew her angel, and her angel...was. Angels and demons are genderless beings of spirit, which Crowley interpreted as All of the Genders, and Aziraphale as Oh No Thank You None For Me.

Another way in which they were nicely matched, and she was so happy to find another thing that made them _them_ , she kissed Aziraphale. Though admittedly she might have done that anyway.

“Oof, I need different clothes,” Aziraphale said, looking down at herself. “Oh, and I suppose you'd better change my pronouns.”

“If you want,” Crowley said, as they headed for the stairs up to Aziraphale's flat. “It's not necessary anymore, angel.”

Aziraphale paused a moment on the spiraling staircase, lit by a beam of sunlight that made Crowley's heart hurt. “You're right of course,” she said, “But I think I _do_ want.” She smiled a little, and looked down at her hands. “I'm not any gender, you know that. But she and her – yes, I like that. For now.”

“She and her you are, then,” Crowley said softly, slipping her arms around Aziraphale's waist. Oh, thank goodness – it was deliciously soft, with a round belly still. “We can change that as often as you want, darlin'.”

“And you?”

Crowley shrugged. “I'm me. Although. As you said, renovations.”

Aziraphale waited patiently, her hand steady on Crowley's lower back. Warm and solid and...and ready to catch her. Ready to hold her, a hug or a cuddle or anything she needed. It was impossible to think that this was the being that not very long ago had tried to convince them both that she didn't even _like_ Crowley. How changed they were, by recent events.

Crowley smiled, and snuggling a little closer. “Can you call me they/them? I'm curious. Never tried that one before.”

“Of course, my dear.” Aziraphale kissed them sweetly, sealing the new pronouns with a blessing. “Now come on. _I'm_ not even sure what I gave myself, exactly.”

Crowley laughed and chased Aziraphale the rest of the way up the stairs. “I want to see you,” they whinged cheerfully, heading for the bedroom with its attached walk-in closet that was _definitely_ bigger on the inside.

“I want to see me, too,” Aziraphale said. She began to undress, starting with her waistcoat. It was too tight around her chest and too loose around her waist, so would get tucked away until she figured out what to do about that, or simply changed her body back. The shirt underneath wasn't too bad, and of course the bowtie could still see heavy use. Her trousers were all right, but fit very oddly, she thought, and Crowley agreed. She carefully made two piles; one for things that she might like to wear on this corporation, and one for things that definitely did not.

“D'you _have_ any clothes that work with hips and things?” Crowley asked, lounging on the bed. _Their_ bed, really, plural they. Crowley kept a flat in Mayfair still, and stayed there a few days a week, but even then Aziraphale nearly always came along. One domicile or two didn't make much of a difference to them, so adding a third would be just fine, they figured. “I don't think anything of mine would fit you, but we can go shopping.”

“You just want to go shopping,” Aziraphale said, settling on the edge of the bed to get her socks off. Crowley noticed the dimples above her bottom, and heartily approved. Aziraphale really did know how to design a body, even if it was all instinct.

“Well, yeah,” Crowley said, just to be flippant. One could get a little too romantic. Not often, but from time to time.

Aziraphale laughed and leaned over and kissed them. “Too bad for you, I've got plenty of clothes for whatever I feel like.” She rested a hand on Crowley's belly and smiled down at them. “You're very beautiful, by the way. Have I told you that yet?”

“Yes, but you can tell me again.” Crowley had nearly discorporated the first time Aziraphale had complimented them in such a way, and still felt all squirmy and weird and not necessarily beautiful, when it came down to. But the only way out was through, and bravado made anything easier to deal with.

“You are,” Aziraphale said in that dreadful voice where Crowley believed everything she said. “You're beautiful.” She touched the side of Crowley's face, gazing into wide yellow eyes.

Crowley closed their eyes, not really able to handle this, and tried to believe. They really did. Aziraphale didn't just mean the beauty of their corporation, but of everything they were, and that was...a lot to take in.

“Love.” The feeling of a kiss on Crowley's forehead, and the the little bounce in the mattress as Aziraphale rose again to attend to her undergarments – definitely a bit uncomfortable, if not utterly ill-suited.

“Hm. Well, not bad, if I do say so myself.”

Crowley opened their eyes to watch Aziraphale regard herself in the mirror. She was the same height, and the same general build; soft arms and thighs, though with weight settled rather more in her wide hips. She had kept her delicate ankles and feet, and strong, square hands. A round belly Crowley had already discovered, though now with a nipped-in waist, and small breasts. Pubic hair for the aesthetic, but no genitals, as per usual.

Aziraphale kept the same short-cropped hair and soft, rounded face. Her chin was a little more pointed and her features a hair more delicate. Crowley had once gotten very drunk and written a sonnet about Aziraphale's upper lip and the poutiness thereof, and therefore was _extremely_ pleased to learn that someone had kindly turned the dial up on that feature. Her nose was still upturned, her eyes sweet and lovely, eyelashes just a little longer, and she turned and smiled over her shoulder at Crowley, a perfect Greek sculpture of a woman in the full blossom of middle age, lush and rich and rolling.

“Oh, you're beautiful!” Crowley covered their mouth, but Aziraphale laughed and came over, lying down next to her demon.

“Am I? That's good, I suppose.” She touched her belly, and a breast, curious at the weight of them.

“Very beautiful,” Crowley said, and kissed her lightly on the lips. When that was welcomed, they kissed the warm curve of her shoulder, then between her breasts, and finally the sweet mound of her stomach where they settled for a little cuddle.

“You're so good to me,” Aziraphale praised, and ran her fingers through Crowley's hair. “Thank you. I love you very much.”

Crowley thought about what Aziraphale had told them, about how Gabriel had regarded her body and the softness therein, and hugged the precious corporation a little closer.

They took a moment to just lie together, loving and being loved, until Aziraphale curled over and kissed the top of Crowley's head, and gently wriggled free. Underwear was quickly miracled into place, Aziraphale not bothering to keep women's underthings around, and she disappeared into her closet while Crowley stretched out and waited impatiently.

“What do you think of this?” Aziraphale came out in a long skirt and button-down top, looking not unlike an Edwardian lesbian, which is what Crowley told her.

“I think you should wear whatever you damned well please,” Crowley added. “But you are a bit out of fashion. And frumpy.”

“Oh _that's_ a new experience,” Aziraphale snarked, and disappeared back into the closet while Crowley was still cackling.

They took the chance to play with their own clothes, eventually winding up with a very intricate bra, see-through top and very, very short shorts, just to see what Aziraphale might think.

“Anthony J Crowley, it is _March_ in London, you're going to catch your death,” is what she said, but her eyes also lingered, and she was smiling. “How's this?”

'This' was a throwback to the forties, a sensible button-down housedress in the inevitable tartan. Stockings with the seam up the back and equally sensible heels finished her off.

“Very vintage, very retro. Going to do anything with your hair?” Crowley asked, adding another tattoo to the inside of their thigh, just for funsies. There were a lot of wings and eyes involved in the design.

“No,” Aziraphale said, flopping down beside her, crinoline poufing out far too cutely. “I like it this way.”

“I like it this way too,” Crowley said, and kissed her. “Now, how do we buy a house, d'you think?”

Aziraphale blinked. “That...isn't a bad question. Ask your Google thing.”

“The hell I will, the internet is a cesspool. We'll ask Dylan,” Crowley decided. Dylan was one of the circle of queer people who tended to orbit around Aziraphale. She had collected them over the years, tending to their hearts and helping out when she could, sometimes with nothing more than a safe place to spend a few hours. Crowley had gradually become something of a co-protector, and loved them all fiercely, a sentiment they revealed to absolutely no one but which was painfully obvious to everyone.

Dylan had found Aziraphale when she'd been kicked out of her house and wandered into the bookshop, not even sure why she was there. (Aziraphale had known immediately of course, and got her set up with a ham sandwich, a cup of tea, and, a few phone calls later, a safe place to live.) Dylan also had the great advantage of working as an office manager at a letting agents, and definitely not being in the least surprised if Crowley and Aziraphale showed up with different apparent genders than the last time she'd seen them. And, indeed, she was quite unruffled upon getting first an e-mail and then greeting them at the office and introducing them to someone who had just the thing for them. Several potential just the things, and wasn't that luck?

Very lucky, Crowley and Aziraphale agreed innocently, before stealing Dylan away for lunch at the Ritz, because Aziraphale did so worry that she didn't get enough to eat, food prices being what they were, and Crowley desperate to learn how things were going with her new girlfriend. Both of them accomplished their missions with flying colours, of course, and Aziraphale was slightly comforted when Dylan promised that she didn't want for basics.

They parted with hugs and reminders of love. “We're not leaving London entirely,” Aziraphale comforted, Dylan still in the warm circle of her arms. “I'll still have my shop, and we'll only ever be a quick drive away.” It was something that needed to be said aloud, spoken into the universe and not just to one slightly worried young woman. Aziraphale could give her flaming sword away without a second thought, but like hell would she abandon London, and her special charges therein.

And so they spent the next few weeks shuttling between London and various villages in the south and east of England, exploring fens and hills and sea to find the perfect fixer-upper in the perfect setting. Nothing they looked at was unsuitable, it just wasn't quite _there_. A little too rural – a pub with a good menu within walking distance was a necessity, they knew. Or a little too suburban. (A thought that gave both of them the hives and unfortunately got some Betjeman stuck in Aziraphale's head for a week.) A house that was just a shell wasn't quite it; there needed to be good bones there, and character.

“It must have been well-loved and -lived-in,” Aziraphale said in the car, as they drove back to London after another weekend in the country. “No one ever liked that last one.”

Crowley thought about their flat, which was...not hated. But they weren't sure they loved it, and they thought it might show.

They reached over and took Aziraphale's hand, letting the gearshift handle itself. Maybe their love of the bookshop would be enough, prove enough that they could love a house, love a home. Especially if that home had Aziraphale in it.

“Oh my dear.” Aziraphale lifted their hand and kissed the back of it softly, and touched it to her cheek. “We're going to be so happy together, I know it. It's worth waiting, isn't it? To find the right spot?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, and swallowed hard. “It's worth it. We got all the time in the world now, angel.”

Aziraphale giggled and kissed the back of their hand again. “I know, it's so wonderful. Let's go out tonight, Crowley. I want to show you off.”

Crowley made a noise, but didn't really argue. They'd be showing Aziraphale off, if anything. “You pick. Anything you like. You know I'll be happy enough.”

“Music,” Aziraphale decided. “Leave it to me, it'll be a surprise.”

Crowley assumed it would be something classical; lovely and formal. They dressed appropriately, black cocktail dress and all fitting perfectly to their spare, rangy, and very male body. Anyone who didn't like it could go kick rocks.

Aziraphale smiled when they reappeared after changing, and kissed them softly, a rather proprietary hand resting at Crowley's waist. For her part, she had found a tailor that could take her usual Victorian gear and reproduce it to account for curves in new places. She was wearing the first creation tonight, a lovely suit of cream and gold, with a waistcoat nearly the match for her old one. Crowley rested a hand against the soft velvet, and felt like they'd come home. Her angel was so beautiful and so _Aziraphale_ that Crowley's heart hurt to look at her.

Perceived gender wasn't the only changed thing that night, because instead of the Royal Albert Hall or anything like that, Aziraphale led Crowley just a few blocks away, down a flight of stairs, and into a dim, warm room.

It was a club; a small one, with a stage and seating and a bar along one wall. Aziraphale bought them both drinks, swanning about like the queen of the ball with Crowley on her arm, smiling at everyone. As they waited to give their order, Aziraphale kept an arm around their waist, keeping Crowley close. Keeping them safe; the club wasn't very crowded but no one was about to push past Crowley. Or possibly even touch them, and didn't that do things in the pit of Crowley's stomach? Aziraphale _wanted_ them all to herself; not in an ugly, grasping way, but in a way that kept Crowley safe from the world. In a way that let Crowley feel so intensely loved, they were a little glad that they had to stand and wait and they could lean on the bar. Wouldn't do to stumble in these heels, and break the illusion.

Crowley also noticed some very jealous looks from a few women at the bar aimed right at them, and stood even taller and prouder. Aziraphale, of course, noticed nothing, silly thing that she was, not even when the stone butch at the end of the bar caught Crowley's eye, nodded, and winked.

Crowley actually did have manners even if they didn't always use them. This was one of those times when respect was owed, so they bowed a little in her direction, and the two of them exchanged a smile as Aziraphale placed their drinks order.

Drinks in hand, the angel settled them in a cozy booth tucked away in a corner, where they could watch the singer and her band moan out the most beautiful blues Crowley had ever heard, but no one could see them. In between songs, Crowley kissed her, a little amazed at the changes in her beloved. Aziraphale mostly just looked like the cat who'd got the cream, and kissed back very happily.

They kept their arm around her at all times, except for when one of them was ordering another round at the bar, and if they cried and had to hide their face in a soft, welcoming shoulder when a particularly piercing love song cut them to the heart, no one but Aziraphale needed to know.

“Well?” Aziraphale asked as they walked home in the little hours of the morning. “Did I do good?”

“Perfect,” Crowley said, still a little dazzled from the quiet and the music and the balance of sadness and desire and joy and love and the whole fucking human condition.

Aziraphale grinned proudly and went up on tiptoe to kiss Crowley's cheek. “I love you so very much, Crowley. I wanted to show you a good time, for you're always so good to me, after all.”

Crowley caught hold of her, loving the familiar clothes on a body that was...familiar too. A little different, but it held the same spirit, and they got used to these things quickly. Their throat ached too much to say anything, but they thought they might have got the point across, with the kiss they gave Aziraphale.

“Let's go home,” Aziraphale said, slipping her arm around Crowley's waist and steering them through the dark streets. Crowley rested their head on Aziraphale's shoulder and simply enjoyed every single part of their life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who wants more clothing and real estate porn??

They could have a little lie-in the next morning, and absolutely did. Crowley all but tied Aziraphale to the bed (and definitely threatened to do so a few times), finally buying themself enough time to run to the little kitchen. They had to move the ubiquitous books out of the way – they sprouted like mushrooms in the night, Crowley was _sure_ of it – but made a pot of coffee to go with the pastries they had ordered to be delivered the night before. It was very hard to sneak a phone call when you had zero excuse to duck into the ladies', but a series of frantic eye-messages to the bartender had kept Aziraphale waiting long enough for Crowley to ensure that they could surprise the angel with still-warm almond croissants.

“Crowley! You're spoiling me,” Aziraphale accused. She hadn't slept much, an hour or two as was her usual wont, but had stayed in bed and was even now still happily ensconced in pillows, a book lying open on her lap.

“Well, I would hope so,” Crowley said, settling the tray and pouring out coffee for both of them. “Eat up, angel, we've got a big day.”

“We're driving to the South Downs to look at a house, you needn't make it sound like we're going to dig the foundations ourselves,” Aziraphale said, but she was smiling as Crowley handed her coffee and a pastry, and snuggled up against her side. They'd thrown on a dressing gown for the pretty and the warmth, but Aziraphale was still in her nightgown. It was surprisingly plain, simple white linen with a tiny lace trim. And it was beautiful, of course, flowing over Aziraphale's breasts and skimming her belly, hiding the sweet curve of her waist. It was sleeveless, and Crowley kissed the bare, pale skin of her upper arm.

“'s funny,” Crowley said, after Aziraphale had fed them a little morsel of honey and almond and buttery pastry. “I always thought you'd go very femme.”

“I do, sometimes,” Aziraphale said. “That's why I've got all those dresses, darling.” She smiled shyly. “Do you want me more femme?”

“I want you as you are,” Crowley said firmly. “Always, love. I only ever want you as you are.” They touched Aziraphale's cheek. “You do make a very handsome soft butch, by the way. All the girls were making eyes at you last night.”

“Oh, you.” Aziraphale went a bit pink. “Is _that_ why you were about to wee on me like you were a dog and I was a tree?”

Crowley bit their lip around a smile. “Maybe. Well, definitely. They can look and envy all they want, and I don't blame them a bit, long as they know I'm taking you home. But my point remains. Wear dresses when you like, wear that absolutely  _stunning_ suit when you like. Goodness knows I change it up often enough, and you seem happy with me.”

“Yes but..” 

Crowley waited for the 'that's different'. They had talked about this so many times. It wasn't a quick thing, undoing six thousand years of brainwashing.

“No,” Aziraphale said quietly, after a moment. “No buts. Thank you, love. You're very patient with me.”

Crowley's heart shattered, and they moved to cup Aziraphale's face in their hands. _Fuck_ , those dear features, the shy smile, eyes that changed up from green to hazel to darkest blue. Aziraphale was going to be the end of them, except that wasn't how love worked.

Maybe they were both working on some shit.

“I love you,” they said quietly. “I've loved you for as long as the Earth has existed, nearly. Reminding you that you are _free_ isn't a chore or a burden, darling, and it never will be. You're so brave, and I will tell you over and over and over. Got me, angel?”

“Always,” Aziraphale said, and turned her head and kissed Crowley's hand. “I love you too, more than I can say. Now snuggle up to me again, there's a dear.” Aziraphale fed them another morsel of sweet. “Got to keep my demon happy and healthy,” she said firmly, and pressed a long kiss into Crowley's hair while Crowley attempted to deal with suddenly being the focus of love in the household.

So they took care of one another, and slowly dressed. Crowley opted for a particularly female corporation, but kept their hair short and messy and butch. Aziraphale wore a less formal version of what she had put on the night before, tailored trousers and a cream shirt, plain waistcoat and a collar bar with pretty little gold wings at the finials. So, looking and feeling their best, they headed out of London, south to the rolling hills and the sea.

“Oh. My.” Azirpahale cleared her throat. “It's certainly something.”

“That it is.” Crowley cocked their head to one side. “Huh.”

“Mmm.” Aziraphale tried to make words happen, and found she couldn't. “Well, we won't be hard to find if we're giving directions.”

“No,” Crowley said. “That we will not.”

“It's very characterful,” Aziraphale said, going up the front walk. “Oh, look at the gardens, darling.”

“Plenty of land,” Crowley said. 

“I love it,” Aziraphale said, sounding a little desperate. “Crowley, why do I _love_ it?”

Crowley couldn't help but throw their head back and laugh. “Angel, it's  _us_ .”

And indeed it was, in a way. The house – manor, almost – could have been used to teach a history of English architecture. There was a half-timbered hall that bled into a 17 th century passageway that connected it to a Georgian wing which curved around into Edwardian brick, ending in a lovely modern conservatory.

“We're having trouble shifting it,” the estate agent told them as she let them in to explore the warren of rooms.

“Can't posssibly imagine why,” Crowley said dryly, as they looked around what had been a late medieval hall. There was definitely no insulation, but good bones, and they knew this because they could see a bunch of them. 

“The whole building's been electrified and had plumbing installed, but of course there's plenty of room for you to leave your mark,” the estate agent told them brightly. This was the first chance she'd had in months of shifting this behemoth, and she wasn't going to let it go.

“Yes, yes, wonderful,” Aziraphale murmured, stroking a door lintel. The timber had twisted and untwisted, and was a little mazy, but lovely all the same.

They made their way through the house noting the surfeit of rooms, the good-sized kitchen with the inevitable Aga, the library with built-in shelves and tall windows that looked out onto the gardens, and of course the conservatory.

“Oh, this is perfect for you,” Aziraphale murmured, one hand on Crowley's back. “You can be outside without going outside, when it's too cold.”

“That wall was made for bookshelves,” was all Crowley muttered, waving at the wall that had once been the exterior of the house, and was now a cheerful gold colour, with a little frieze of painted ivy.

They walked through again and Crowley took pictures and asked questions about onward chains, and Aziraphale asked about the age of the water heater and they both tapped on the walls and checked the fireplaces and Aziraphale asked again about the heating system.

They took their leave and walked into the heart of the village, just over half a mile through fields and a little patch of forest, and set themselves up with a bottle of decent plonk at the first pub they came upon.

“It's the ugliest thing I've ever seen,” Crowley said honestly.

“Oh, the same for me, my dear,” Aziraphale assured them. “But I love it. I can't help it.”

“You have _awful_ taste,” Crowley observed.

Aziraphale watched the light catch glints of fire in Crowley's hair, the way their face relaxed as they sipped their wine. The tight cut of their jacket and the long silver chain they wore, the locket at the end of it tucked into their shirt. Aziraphale had a similar locket under her shirt as well.

“As you say,” she said, smiling and keeping her peace. “You liked it too. I could tell.”

“It was all right,” Crowley said offhandedly. “Wouldn't hate it. Lots of room.”

“Oh, plenty of room,” Azirphale said. “I'd have my library, you'd have your gardens. Could have an office, too.”

“Mmm,” Crowley said.

“So which bedroom did you like best?” Aziraphale asked. “I rather fancied the Georgian one, with the carved ceiling.”

“ _That_ dark thing? You've got to be joking angel, the view was of absolutely nothing, no, no, we've got to set up in that Edwardian one, with the wood floors and the stained glass and all _right_ , I liked it too.” Crowley threw up their hands in disgust. “Well buy the stupid thing.”

“Of course we will,” Aziraphale said happily. “There's quite a lot to do. We'll have such fun, Crowley. We've got to start by insulating that hall, it would make such a lovely sitting room.”

Crowley made some grumbly noises, but Aziraphale had learned several millennia ago not to take them too seriously.

So calls were made and paperwork signed and yet more paperwork signed and Aziraphale began to decide what portion of her book collection to move to their country house and Crowley watched some YouTube videos and began to doubt their collective sanity, but soon enough – the house was theirs, and the two of them were driving down with the Bentley loaded up with home repair books and some supplies to start them off.

“Well, the first thing this place needs is a good scrubbing,” Aziraphale declared after looking around for ten minutes, followed by her and Crowley sneezing almost immediately, and consistently thereafter.

“Again, I can't imagine why no one wanted it.” They had fled to the back garden, which perhaps had once been something fancy. There were still fruit trees scattered here and there, including a cherry tree that someone had, for some unknown reason, espaliered onto the garden wall. It was the only one.

“It's like a sampler,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully, looking around the garden which was just as hotch-potch as the rest of the house. “Practice.”

“So we practice being human?” Crowley asked, looking at her askance.

“Oh, heavens no. We'd be terrible at it,” Aziraphale said. “Oh, don't look at me like that, I have _some_ self-awareness, you old snake.”

“News to me,” Crowley said, and took their deserved withering look with the appropriate attitude of pride.

The garden would have to come later, though; the house needed scrubbing, and so they set about it, working side-by-side. Neither of them had made a  _particular_ practice of cleaning in the human way in recent years, but there had certainly been occasions when they both needed to pass for human, and, again, YouTube proved to be helpful. And anyway, it wasn't like mops had radically changed in the past few centuries, nor scrub brushes either.

“It's a bit fun,” Aziraphale said, as they scrubbed a few decades of dirt out of the floorboards of what would be their bedroom. The planks were old and warped and beautiful, especially now that they glowed golden rather than a slightly odd matte black from accumulated crud.

Crowley blew a strand of hair out of their face. “Really, angel?”

“It is!” Aziraphale dried her hands on a handkerchief and pushed Crowley's hair out of their face. “Have you got a hair gripper, love?”

“Uh, not on me?” Crowley said, refusing to collapse under the sudden, unheralded kindness of their girlfriend.

“Well, we only said we can't miracle fixing up the house,” Aziraphale said, and pulled a few clips out of thin air, gently fixing Crowley's long hair back. “There. Better?”

“Uh huh. Um. Thanks.”

Aziraphale ducked her head and kissed Crowley, soft and slow. “We're going to make a wonderful home,” she murmured, when they drifted apart, just a little.

“Uh huh.” Crowley's voice was a little crackly, and they had to crawl into Aziraphale's arms for a moment, just for a little cuddle, right there in the middle of the buckets and brushes and half-cleaned floor. 

(Anyway, a few minutes' break from cleaning never hurt anybody.)

When Crowley was a little steadier, it was back to work, Aziraphale humming cheerfully as they finished the floor and washed the walls. The plaster was hanging on solely by many layers of thick paint, the latest in a very strange shade of blue, but they could make the space theirs until they had time to attend to such things. Aziraphale hopped up on a little step-stool to wash the pretty fanlights of stained glass, while Crowley tackled the other windows, great tall things that looked out onto the back garden, and to fields beyond. Even, they thought, a tiny glimpse of the sea, perhaps.

It took plenty of elbow grease, but soon the bedroom was gleaming, and it was time to install the bed. There had been some debate, but Crowley quickly acquiesced to Aziraphale's giant old four-poster, and it was summarily miracled from London, the two of them seeing no need to go through the trouble of hiring movers.

“Besides, I already owned it. It's not part of the new house, not exactly,” Aziraphale said. “Now. Against this wall?”

Crowley shook their head. “That one,” they said, pointing to just the spot. “Otherwise the sun'll come in right onto it. Dreadful in summer – no need to be up that early.”

“Says _you_ ,” Aziraphale said primly. “But all right. It's nice and cozy, anyway. And out of the sun.” She gestured, and the bed went sliding and spinning into place. “You pick sheets and things,” she said generously. “Fair's fair.”

Crowley grinned, snapped their fingers, and well. The black satin sheets were inevitable, really.

“ _Crowley_. You know very well you slide all over the place with those.”

“Awww, but they're so fun,” Crowley whined. They snapped again, and the shiny black satin was replaced with dark blue cotton, and a duvet in a deep red cover.

“Hmm,” Aziraphale said, and went over to investigate for anything Crowley had hidden that might be tacky or modern or slippery or otherwise quite a silly choice.

Crowley hung back and waited. Soon...soon...

“Ooooh. Oh, is that velvet?” Aziraphale asked, touching the duvet cover. It was such a deep colour she hadn't even seen the nap until she got a bit closer.

“Mmmhmm. Silk velvet. Just for you,” Crowley said. “Know you don't sleep much, angel. Hoped you might. Y'know. Stick around a bit. In bed. When I slept. Er.” 

Maybe the floor was actually really fragile and would open up under them and let them fall through. If they were really lucky, they might even get knocked unconscious.

It was better than watching Aziraphale turn and smile like  _that_ , her eyes soft and a wild greeny-blue in the soft spring light. “Oh, my dearest.”

“Sh'up. Gonna be nice to sleep under too,” Crowley said. “Stop looking at me like that,” they begged, and Aziraphale, terrible angel that she was, _laughed._

“Like what?” she said, and her smile only grew. “You look after me so well, Crowley. I'm so very lucky.” And then she turned back to the bed and petted the soft duvet, and rearranged a few pillows. “Oh, this will be lovely,” she murmured quietly, stroking the fine dark wood of the nearest post. “We'll need bedside tables and things,” she decided. “And wardrobes and bureaus. And, oh, what do you think of a little table and some easy chairs before the fire?”

Crowley snapped their fingers up, and produced two lovely wingback chairs, and a pretty little table with inlaid mother-of-pearl. And a firescreen, just in case – wouldn't do for them to get scorched, after all.

“Oooh!” Aziraphale laughed and ran over and touched the chair that would be hers. “Oh, you dear. You must let me give you something. A house-warming present.” She snapped down, and a lovely antique Chinese wardrobe appeared, all red lacquered wood, with tiny, exquisite birds painted on in black.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathed. “That's real. I mean. You didn't just miracle it.”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale walked over and touched one of the doors, smiling at the metal plate that held the contraption that allowed one to bar the doors closed with a single, delicate stick of silver. It had all tarnished over time, but she rather fancied the effect. “I bought it when it was new – I'm not surprised you don't recognize it, I never really kept it in the shop. Didn't seem to fit anywhere. Do you know, I think I bought it for you? It was while you were sleeping, and then of course...everything happened. But I think I bought it for you _now_ , this moment, when we're building a home together.”

Bless Aziraphale – she was quiet and still while Crowley walked over to her and wrapped their arms tight around her middle and buried their face in the back of their neck, just breathing in. Well. Mostly the smell of soap and hot water, but also of cologne and cotton and warm skin. She was  _theirs_ , just like they were hers. It was incredible. It was impossible.

Crowley wanted to ask when Aziraphale would run out of love, when this would end. Except it wouldn't, ever, and that was dizzying. They wouldn't ever stop loving one another, for all Crowley's fears – they knew Aziraphale was afraid of the same thing. That she'd been too cruel (like she could ever be cruel, all right, she could, but it was because she was so, so afraid and Crowley shook remembering how afraid Aziraphale had had to be), that she was too fussy and dull, when she was the most interesting being Crowley had ever met. Even, from time to time, that she wasn't good-looking enough. Crowley actually almost sort of liked those times, because it was an excuse to take their angel in arms and remind her of how every inch of her was perfect, all soft and sweet and made for kissing and tender touches.

The transitive property of love: Crowley had once feared Aziraphale would stop loving them, but knew they would never stop loving Aziraphale. And so, therefore, Crowley could believe that Aziraphale would love them for all of time, and beyond time. 

All these things they had spent centuries unpicking and musing and thinking over, they swirled through Crowley's mind in a few minutes. A reminder of things they had figured out, but were still a little too raw to look at head-on. So they buried their face in Aziraphale's shirt and held on tight until they could stop trembling.

And Aziraphale stood there, calm and ready and still. Patient. Crowley could take all the time they needed to have a breakdown, or just maybe a little cry, because their love had given them something very beautiful, a gift Crowley would see and use every day. They took a deep breath, and tried to be normal. “Thank you,” they said in a voice that crackled and dipped, but at least the words made it out. “It's beautiful. It's perfect.”

“Isn't it? It really suits you so well.” Aziraphale was being fussy and light, like Crowley hadn't just had a few centuries of the philosophy of love run through their brain in about three minutes, and honestly, it was wonderfully grounding. “We've done quite a lot,” she said cheerfully, slipping her body around a bit to wrap an arm around Crowley's waist. “How about I make us some tea? I could certainly use a bit of a pick-me-up.”

Hah. Crowley's reaction  _had_ touched her. Good, at least they were suffering this in love thing together.

“In a moment, angel,” Crowley said, and kissed her cheek. “I have a present for you, too.” 

“Oh, Crowley, no, you needn't--”

But Crowley had already snapped their fingers, and a paneled, carved screen appeared, cutting off a generous corner of the room so that their love could dress and keep her modesty. The screen was Balinese; the panels intricately carved and painted with sprawling vines and flowers, all bright colours and flashes of gold.

“Oh _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale breathed, and drifted over to the work of art, Crowley towed along. She touched it with gentle fingertips, as though it were the rarest scroll in her collection. “ _This_ is real!”

“Yeah. Not an antique, picked it up a few years ago. Saw it in a market and liked it, but. Well. Didn't fit my flat, really,” Crowley said. “Better here. Better being yours.”

“Oh, darling. It's so lovely. I love it so much.” Aziraphale touched a jewel-like flower. “It's you. The things you love, I mean. All this greenery – we'll have to have plenty of plants everywhere, of course. But this one won't ever have an off-season.” She was wittering, and didn't care. It was right to be so flustered by a piece of art like this one. “It'll always be beautiful for us.” She turned and kissed them tenderly, one hand coming up to tuck another stray tendril of hair behind their ear. “I love you, Crowley. I love you so.”

“Me too,” Crowley mumbled, feeling a little numb and like they had probably more feelings than their body had been built to hold. “I love you angel, forever.” They rested their forehead on her shoulder, and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Tea? Please?”

“Tea,” Aziraphale agreed, and stroked their back softly, just once. “Go and sit, sweetheart, I'll have it ready in a jiff.”

Aziraphale using stupid words always did bring Crowley back to themself faster than anything, and they settled in the chair that was already theirs, comforted by the sound of Aziraphale bustling around behind them with a miracled-up electric kettle and a little cart with everything they could want. It sounded, deliciously, like home.


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of the day was a bit more planning and less scrubbing, now that they had a room to work out of. Indeed, the bedroom they'd chosen easily stretched to act as sitting room and kitchenette as well, considering neither of them needed very much in the way of cooking supplies once tea and cocoa were sorted. (Wine could be stored anywhere; one of its great advantages.)

One look at the bathroom, thought, and they knew it would be unusable.

“It's not very relaxing, doing it this way,” Aziraphale admitted, as she miracled them both clean and un-sweaty. “But it's certainly better than whatever's on offer in _there_.”

“We'll have to replace all of it,” Crowley agreed, giving her a quick kiss in thanks. “Get a lovely great big tub for soaking. And one of those rain showers. With the pretty tiles.” They trailed off a moment, thinking of what plants would go best – African violets, of course, and trailing ferns. They thought of a great tub wreathed in greenery, and Aziraphale lounging there, certainly with a glass of wine, being pampered and cosseted properly.

“You plan that room,” Aziraphale said. “I'll help, of course – goodness knows it'll need...re-tiling, or whatever bathrooms need. But you plan all of it. You've better taste in that area than I do.”

“Kind of you to notice,” Crowley agreed, and winked. “Promise, you'll love it when I'm done.”

“I have no doubt,” Aziraphale assured them. She went over to her wardrobe – plain dark walnut, a copy of the one she had in the bookshop – and mused over what to change into for dinner. Dungarees and a work shirt were right out, of course.

“Angel, we're just going to the pub,” Crowley pointed out, taking advantage of their free time to lounge on the bed. Ooooh, Aziraphale _could_ pick out a nice mattress, and thank heavens. They were half afraid they'd have to quietly miracle away something involving horsehair.

“I have _standards_ ,” Aziraphale informed them. “And we don't all look our best in skinny jeans and our unders, beloved.”

Crowley made a little noise of pique – they were wearing a _silk_ camisole it was hardly underwear – followed by one of warning. Was it time to tackle Aziraphale and kiss her all over again _already_? Goodness, it had only been a few days since the last time.

They got a reassuring smile, though, so all was well. For the moment. They made a mental note to do the tackle and head-to-toe kissing quite soon. Just to keep in practice and all.

“I'm feeling dressy anyways,” Aziraphale continued. “I mean, I want to wear a dress.” She tilted her head, regarded the walk-in closet that miraculously extended from the small wardrobe, and plunged in. Crowley craned their head and got a glimpse of something pale blue and shiny, but Aziraphale was quickly behind her new screen, and Crowley reassessed their own wisdom in giving her something that meant Crowley couldn't see every inch of her lovely body as she got changed. Honestly, they were really quite stupid sometimes, they had to admit.

It was worth the wait, though – Aziraphale emerged in a pretty dress, cut tight through the bodice and flared over the skirt. Pale blue – ah, yes, dupioni silk, with a surprisingly modern asymmetrical collar. Well, mid-20th-century, but that was was pretty modern for Aziraphale. It gleamed a little in the last of the sunlight, and set off her creamy skin, as she smiled and twirled for Crowley.

“It's not too much, is it?” she asked. “Only I think it does flatter me so.”

“Bollocks to too much” Crowley said, and very happily too.

“Wait, why am I asking _you_?” Aziraphale realised.

“You've finally recognised my superior taste?”

Aziraphale rolled her eyes. “Anyway, if it's too much, everyone'd better get used to it,” she decided, and looked down at herself again. “And it's hardly too much. One colour, very classic cut. Sensible shoes and I could be a farm girl,” she said aloud.

Maybe some Paris couturier's idea of a farm girl, Crowley thought privately, but Aziraphale was happy and very beautiful, so they held their tongue. Besides, they were both Too Much, just on the basis of personality. Clothes didn't really come into it, when people were encountering them.

“Come here,” Crowley said, after Aziraphale had preened before a mirror a little more. “I want to hug you. Love you, beautiful.”

“You're making me vain,” Aziraphale said, walking barefoot and bare-legged across the floor and settling in Crowley's arms.

“Aziraphale, you literally almost got discorporated because you wouldn't dress down for a revolution,” Crowley said, and kissed her. “You're already vain. Besides, who cares? So am I, and it hasn't hurt me any.”

Aziraphale groaned and rested her head on Crowley's shoulder. “I wish I could argue with you, but I can't. You're better at fitting in, I guess.” She snuggled close – they had ages until they ought to leave, even if they did walk to the village, and it was nice to lie here quietly after a busy day. And have Crowley's arms around her, the safest place in the whole universe.

Crowley petted her, because why wouldn't they? She was sweet and soft and holding her felt so good, and it always had. They smoothed her short curls, admiring how her fluffy hair caught the light, made a kind of halo, and how it framed her face so sweetly. So different from their own long curls, caught back for the evening. “Have you ever grown your hair out, darling?”

“No, never. I never liked the feeling of it,” Aziraphale confessed. “I know I'm not always the prettiest woman – or man, for that matter – but this feels like _me_.”

“You shut your mouth,” Crowley advised. “You're the prettiest being, to me, for one. And you _are_ attractive, Aziraphale.”

She smiled and shrugged. “I suppose. But anyway – I mean, I guess I tried it, very early on. Before Eden, even.”

“Really?!”

Aziraphale giggled. “Really! Heaven was rather dull even in those days, you know. One can only sing in the heavenly choir so much. And I was a young angel, still. Easily bored and distracted.” She twisted her fingers in her lap. “Well, perhaps that wasn't down to being young.”

Crowley rested their hand over hers, their thumb just touching her signet ring. “You always did want adventure, even when you denied it,” they said. “I love you for that.”

Aziraphale gave them a small smile. “I love you too, Crowley. Back to the old days – it wasn't _terribly_ easy to sneak away, but I had places I could go in the universe to be on my own. Oh, I was very silly, sometimes. Tried on a big, buff corporation, all muscles and things.”

“You _wot_?” Crowley asked, grinning. This was _delightful_.

“Only for a few moments! And no, I won't show it to you, it was awful!” Aziraphale shook her head. “You think it was bad when I was trying to be a good angel, you should've seen me trying to be a good angel who looked like Gabriel!”

Crowley emitted a noise that mostly defied description, but was in parts not unlike a teakettle.

“Oh, very cute,” Aziraphale told them dryly. “It was _awful_ , darling, I don't mind telling you. So utterly not me.” She smiled shyly. “I tried a corporation a little like yours, too. All planes and angles and a streak of nothing.”

“I can't imagine you like that,” Crowley admitted. “It's a good body for me, but it's not you, love. You were meant to be soft, always.”

“You're plenty soft,” Aziraphale told them, and was kind enough to leave room for an indignant squawk, which she absolutely, definitely ignored. Crowley was _obviously_ the soft one of the two of them, so obvious it didn't even need debate. “Anyway. You're right, it didn't feel quite right, though I was very beautiful. And I tried long hair at the same time. Wasn't... _me_ ,” she tried to explain.

Crowley nodded, understanding. “So you settled on how you are?”

“Mmm. It's not actually unknown for angels to be a bit plump, no matter what Gabriel likes to be an ass about,” Aziraphale explained. “It was quite all right for me to look like this, until well. You know.”

“They figured out you were _you_?” Crowley guessed, and bussed their sweet girl on the cheek when she nodded. “Bastards.”

“As you say.” Aziraphale snuggled a little closer for a moment, her dress warm and rough against the bare skin of Crowley's arms, her body wonderfully heavy against him.

“I love you,” Crowley said again, because they refused to ever stop saying so, and they passed the time before they left for the pub in soft kisses and cuddles, taking in the room around them, their new bedroom. The first step in their new home.

They had decided to tackle the great hall first – it wasn't _terribly_ large, and it was simple, solid construction that would be forgiving to a couple of amateurs. Besides, that horrific drywall that someone had hung and then painted over to look like half-timbering, which was currently half-rotting away, simply _had_ to come down as quickly as possible.

They had quickly worked out that they'd need more tools than a small set that Aziraphale had acquired in about 1952, so Crowley had left Aziraphale with her vintage clawhammer and done an emergency run to the local B&Q. They had the sinking feeling they might be seeing the inside of it an awful lot.

But anyway, the first of many, many shopping trips had been successful, and Crowley lugged from the car the bag of pry bars and chisels and hammers and even a small sledgehammer that they thought they and Aziraphale _might_ be trusted with.

They just about managed to not drop the bag at the sight before them.

Aziraphale was wearing well-worn overalls, cuffed at the ankle to show her sturdy workboots, absolute antiques of course, probably hobnailed. Her collar-less chambray shirt was fitted perfectly to her shoulders, and not only were the top two buttons undone, she had rolled the cuffs up over forearms dusted in gold hair that caught in the weak sunlight. A red kerchief was knotted around her hair, and she swung a hammer...expertly? Sure, expertly. Crowley wasn't going to judge. It hit the wall and a huge chunk of drywall cracked. Aziraphale gave a little grunt as she moved the hammer, her hand sliding up and around the shaft, and in a single, elegant movement, she freed a part of the ugly wall and let it fall.

“Oh, good, you're back! This old thing is absolutely _terrible_ , and I don't mind telling you the blisters I'm getting,” Aziraphale said, turning so her hips were brought into relief even in the overalls, and the material of her shirt strained against her powerful arms.

“Hnnnnnghhhhhhhh,” Crowley said. The only thing they wanted in the whole entire world was to be lost in a forest. Perhaps with a fever. Yes, that was it. They were a simple peasant...person...lost in the woods. Perhaps it was raining. They couldn't go on much further, and had collapsed very very attractively on the path. And Aziraphale had found them, and lifted them in strong arms, hefting them against her chest. She carried them to her small cabin. No, wait. Her _luxuriously large_ cabin in the woods, which she had built with her own two hands, where she laid Crowley in her own bed and nursed them back to health. There would definitely need to be soup. Heartening broth. Whatever. Details. But Crowley would definitely be nursed back to the bloom of health in the tender arms of their soft-butch woodswoman, and they would fall in love and live in the forest together forever where Aziraphale would chop firewood and Crowley would...largely be decorative, they could admit, but whatever. They were very good at that.

In an instant, Crowley gained a truly deep and abiding understanding of the following:

  1. lesbians in general

  2. back-to-the-land lesbian separatists in particular

  3. every English-language romance novel published between about 1969 and 1993, give or take a few years on either end, with allowances made for the gender of the main love interest.

  4. That Mountain Lodge candle Chris Evans thing.




“I know I'm all dusty, you needn't _stare_ ,” Aziraphale said. “Give us the crowbar, then, I've nearly got this section finished.”

“Holy shit, you're so fucking gorgeous like this I can't stand it,” Crowley breathed.

“Thank you, darling. You're very pretty today too. Now get to work, this drywall isn't going demo itself!” Aziraphale brandished her crowbar and set to work.

Crowley, who had thought they were doing a reasonable job at looking okay with skinnies and a band t-shirt, contemplated swooning. _Maybe_ part of their fantasy could be lived out? Or maybe Aziraphale would be a shitbird and just let them lie on the ground.

Honestly, it would probably be the latter, so full of unfulfilled fantasies and a desperate need to just stare at Aziraphale's arms, they got to work. Where they could see her, of course, they weren't _dumb_.

With both of them working and proper tools, they got most of the old drywall down that day. It did help that Nature herself had taken care of a good chunk of it, and made the rest soft and easy to rip out. Which didn't stop Aziraphale from really getting in there with the pry bar, and giving a little grunt as she flung her weight against it, and freed great sheets of the stuff.

Crowley halfheartedly whacked away at part of a wall, and made eyes at Aziraphale.

They were ineffective enough to feel a bit guilty after it was all over, and promised to go pick up dinner. (Making dinner might have been more romantic, but Crowley had realistic ideas about both their cooking skills and the overall state of the kitchen.)

“Let me miracle you a bath,” they coaxed Aziraphale, as she washed some grit off her hands and those delicious forearms at the kitchen sink. The water only ran cold, but at least there was plenty of it, and the plumbing was mostly good. “Just for today. You're going to be sore otherwise.”

Aziraphale hesitated, her pretty eyes worried. “We agreed...”

“No miracle renovations. This isn't a renovation,” Crowley said. “It's a treat. Here for a lovely bath and then gone as soon as you're out. Any room you want, angel, just say the word.”

Aziraphale smiled slowly. “The conservatory, then. And you've got to join me. You got to gawk at me all day, you know, I think I should be permitted to make eyes at you back.”

“I. Uh. Well, you can't _blame_ me,” Crowley wailed. “You're so...capable. And gorgeous. And. Ngk.”

“You'd be pretty capable too if you weren't busy flirting,” Aziraphale said firmly. “Conservatory. Bath. A _big_ one.”

Crowley couldn't very well argue with that – and they were starting to feel it a bit in their shoulders anyway, so they lead the way through the weird, mazy house, which required going up one floor, through a kind of foyer to what would be Crowley's office, down a half-floor, past some random Art Deco stained glass on what was probably supposed to be a stair landing without any stairs, and finally through some surprisingly sensible French doors to the wide, bright room. There were the remains of some dead plants that Crowley had not deigned to look at, but otherwise the room was clear, with only the floor in need of some sweeping and the glass some cleaning.

Crowley regarded the room carefully, debating what would serve their angel best, and bringing it into being as they thought of it. A cushioned bench, and a hamper for work-dusty clothes. A huge stack of towels, and their dressing-gowns. Some scented candles and plenty of soap and a pile of flannels and oh yes – they were both quite grimy. So a pretty little shower to rinse the worst off first, and then a great marble pool, not unlike one they had enjoyed together centuries ago, when the Romans had the right ideas about such things.

Aziraphale laughed and kissed them. “Crowley, it's all so beautiful. Let's keep it until our real bathroom is done?”

Crowley smirked, victorious. “Of course, angel. It'll be our reward for a day of good work.”

Aziraphale smiled at them, so sweet and so – fulfilled. It never took much, to make Aziraphale happy like this. (If Crowley thought too much about that, it broke their heart – the way Aziraphale exclaimed over even the smallest kindness. So they tried not to think about that.)

They took turns sluicing off the shower, making quick work of the worst of the grime, and then Crowley helped Aziraphale step down into the bath, holding her hand gallantly and fussing a little until she was properly settled in the steaming water, fragrant with neroli and cedar.

“You enjoy spoiling me far too much,” Aziraphale said as she closed her eyes and sank a little deeper. “And you ought to be ashamed of how demanding I am, Crowley.”

“Don't bloody tell me what to think, angel,” Crowley said. They settled next to her, careful to be gentle. “Aziraphale, open your eyes and look at me.”

Aziraphale did so, of course, the smile fading from her lips. Her eyes were dark blue, wide and a little worried.

“I'm not upset,” Crowley assured her softly. “I love you, darling. But I meant it. Don't tell me how I ought to feel about indulging you. That's my business, and no one else's, including yours.” They nudged her shoulder. “And you're not demanding. Not at all. A little spoiled, maybe, but I like that about you. We're the same side. That means equals. I'd never let you use me, no matter how much I love you, and you know it goes the same on your end.”

Oh, sometimes finding their words and being honest and just _talking_ paid off. Crowley would have to try to remember this. They would definitely remember how Aziraphale went a little pink, and how she smiled, and how she laid her head on Crowley's shoulder.

“I do beg your pardon, then. You're quite right, about all of it. Of course you should do as you please – you've earned it as much as I have, sweetheart.” She smiled at them, wide and true, and kissed their cheek. “Have I told you yet how lovely you are?”

Crowley looked down at themself and smiled. They had picked a very male body today, though with long hair held back only softly, tendrils falling all around their face. Their makeup was long gone, but had been very pretty they thought, as Aziraphale pulled them into a gentle embrace, and a welcome kiss.

They had fun as evening fell, watching the sky change colours and making out in the bath, soaking and stretching out, even enough room for one of them to float at a time. Aziraphale starfished her body out on the surface of the water, and giggled when Crowley rained rose petals down on her, deliciously soft and at ease now.

Only hunger drove them from the bath, and Aziraphale's insistence that they eat a proper dinner, and go out and explore the neighbouring villages a little. She helped Crowley out of the bath just as she'd been helped in and towelled them off with tender efficiency, determined to not let them get chilly for even a moment before helping them into a heavy dressing gown.

They held hands as they walked back to their bedroom, through the weird old house that was them and was theirs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betcha can't tell I wrote this chapter at the same time R*wli*g showed her entire ass on Twitter.

Crowley woke up suddenly, startled by someone laying on their car horn. They also woke up primed and ready for a good grump. First, because of the car horn. Second, because they were not _supposed_ to have gone all countryfied, they were at home anywhere in the world and this wasn't fair. And third, because they never did like waking up suddenly. Far better to slowly re-enter the world, to lie in bed and dream a little, and snuggled deeper under the covers. Even more important when they were in London, and thus did not have to spend the whole day poorly hanging drywall.

(Well, to be fair, they hadn't really gotten to that stage yet. But it would come soon enough, and going by their progess thus far, Crowley....believed in their enthusiasm, more than in their collective skill. No matter how many YouTube videos they watched together, or old home repair books Aziraphale found.)

There was some balm, at least – Aziraphale was fast asleep, and utterly precious about it. Catching her still sleeping was a rare treat, and one that Crowley took full advantage of this morning.

She was – precious. There was no other word for it. She was his precious bastard angel, and she looked it. The pale light coming through the curtains lit on her hair, all pearly white-blonde and sleep-mussed. Aziraphale was curled on her side, arms snuggled in against her chest and her head half-buried in a pillow. It was adorable, and Crowley took their time just lying there and admiring her, loving her fiercely. 

They tried to wait until she woke up, but couldn't resist a kiss on the tip of her upturned nose.

She stirred a little, and Crowley cursed themself. Aziraphale slept so rarely, it seemed extraordinarily mean to wake her. But she wasn't, really; her eyelids flickered and she gave a little sigh, and inclined a hair towards Crowley.

Moving slow and easy, Crowley gathered her into their arms, exulting in getting to hold their lovely while she slept. Aziraphale was heavy and warm in sleep, a delicious soft thing to wrap around. 

Crowley snuggled them under the duvet, the sounds of London familiar and comforting again. They'd come back to the city for a break and to do research, and to see their friends and check on everyone under Aziraphale's protection. And so Aziraphale could pick up a few more suits tailored to her female body. Just the important things, really.

Crowley savoured the quiet and the joy of holding Aziraphale until she started to wake up for real. And then it was new joys – kissing her awake, the first crack of a sleepy eye, and Aziraphale's little smile, sweet as anything. She yawned and resettled herself deeper in Crowley's arms, leaving Crowley feeling strangely, wonderfully, powerful and protective. They petted Aziraphale and kissed her some more, soothing her way to waking.

“Have you been up long, dear?” Aziraphale asked, when she was awake enough for talking.

“Not very. Car horn woke me. I've got too used to the quiet of the country,” Crowley complained.

“Poor you,” Aziraphale murmured, and yawned again, and stretched her body against Crowley's. It was delicious, feeling her body move, stretch and contract, her tummy and her breasts and her arms becoming soft once more against their body. “Mph. I'll go make us coffee, darling. Want yours in bed?”

Crowley nodded. “Please? But only if you'll join me, angel.”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world. Back in a moment, darling.” A kiss to their nose, and the angel was pulling on her dressing gown and heading out of the room.

Crowley nestled under the duvet, smiling as they watched her go, marinating in love. Luckiest demon in the world, they were, and they had the good sense to know it, too.

Aziraphale returned with coffee and toast and chilly feet that she pressed against Crowley's calves, making them yelp and flail a little, but definitely wake up. And also lean down and squeeze Aziraphale's feet through the blankets, warming them in an instant.

“I keep hoping it's spring, but not yet,” Aziraphale admitted, handing Crowley their coffee mug and taking a deep sip of her own.

“Soon enough,” Crowley comforted. “And then we can sweat our arses off working in that house.”

Aziraphale gave them a little swat, but immediately snuggled up into Crowley's arms, head resting on their shoulder. “I'm glad we got the house,” she said. “It's going to be wonderful.”

“It's going to be _insane_ ,” Crowley predicted. “But also wonderful.” They grinned and kissed her cheek. “I'm going to have so much fun watching you swing hammers and things. You really are very, very sexy, you know.”

“Oh, get off,” Aziraphale said cheerfully. “We'll get you swinging hammers too, or whatever.” She settled, very contented, right where she could hear Crowley's heart beating. 

“Eh, if I must.” Crowley offered a sip of their coffee to Aziraphale, since she was right there, and they liked to share things. She accepted the drink, and kissed Crowley, coffee-sweet, and it was going to be the nicest morning.

Even after breakfast was done, they lingered in bed, wrapped around one another, sharing a quiet, tender time together. 

Crowley stroked Aziraphale's side, revelling in her soft skin, and the almost-as-soft linen, warm with body heat. And in return, Aziraphale touched them, firm little massages that placed Crowley quite definitely in their body, and taught them the lines of their frame. They experimented a little with breasts, and Aziraphale giggled and hugged them, a truly delightful squish.

“You're so very beautiful, love,” she said softly. “I don't tell you enough.”

“Aw, I know you think so,” Crowley protested. 

“Good. But I still ought to tell you,” Aziraphale said, and her face softened. “Especially like this. Oh, Crowley, you're something really special, darling. I hope you know that.”

Crowley buried their face in Aziraphale's shoulder for a moment, because here, in this place, they weren't all bits and pieces stuck together, some male, some female, some good, some bad, demon and fallen angel and a little bit human too. They were, simply -- them. And that was good enough for Aziraphale to love.

And so she did just then, holding Crowley tenderly and giving them all the space and time they needed to shiver and be seen and known and loved. When Aziraphale loved you, you  _knew_ it.

Turnabout was fair play – when Crowley could face the world again, they did so with a vengeance, pressing a long kiss to Aziraphale's chest, right above where her heart beat. One strap of her nightgown had fallen, revealing a small, soft breast, and Crowley nuzzled the streaks of gold that showed along one side of it.

“I love your markings,” they said, and kissed a hint of gold on her arm. Stretch marks, and so they were – holding Aziraphale's angelic-ness, her sweetness and love and compassion bleeding through.

Aziraphale giggled, and in a single motion pulled the gown off, showing her body in all its pretty glory, all its round lushness. She could hide the gold from humans, but here, just the two of them, she never bothered, just as Crowley never even tried to make their eyes look human anymore.

Crowley gave a little yelp of joy, and set about kissing the golden streaks on Aziraphale's belly, one hand on her hip. How could a person be so delicious?

“So much better than those flecks on their faces,” Crowley praised, nuzzling Aziraphale's soft tummy.

“You really think so?” Aziraphale laughed when Crowley gave her a look.

“Fish for more compliments, it makes your eyes sparkle,” Crowley advised, and meant it with every fibre of their being.

Aziraphale smiled and touched Crowley's head, and then their lips when they looked up, and they smiled at one another. 

“Bit lonely, being the only naked one,” Aziraphale said, and, well, couldn't argue with that. Crowley snapped their fingers and their pyjamas were gone too, just them in their own skin, snake-eyes and scales on their feet. Male sex and breasts and long hair and –

Oh.

Aziraphale was kissing them, and it was  _amazing_ . Crowley gloried in being beautiful and wanted and loved. They stretched their body out, moving against Aziraphale. A little careful, out of habit, but not so very much care needed anymore. Not when they were wrapping around one another and sharing breath, worshipping each other's bodies as was right.

It felt quiet. And powerful. Maybe not something that  _needed_ to be done, goodness knew they loved one another fiercely already. But something about this connection...perhaps it was their relatively new bodies. Aziraphale more than Crowley – her softness was in different places now – or maybe it was the new house, and the life they were building more solidly and openly together than they ever had before.

Whatever it was, this settled them. Kissing was  _fun_ , and Crowley loved stroking the pretty gold marks on Aziraphale's body just as Aziraphale petted Crowley's scales and cooed over how lovely they were, gently taking a foot in both hands and turning it to admire the iridescence. Crowley kissed the top of Aziraphale's breast and assured her that she was a beautiful woman, and Aziraphale held Crowley tight and told them they were perfect, everything about them was perfect and they deserved a place in the world.

“I'm not one of your babies,” Crowley reminded them. “I know.”

“Do you, then? Good.” Aziraphale kissed their throat. “Sometimes I wonder. And worry. And I'll tell you anyway, because it needs to be said more than it is now.”

One can't hold one's beloved forever, though, and eventually they rose and dressed one another. Crowley got Aziraphale into her bra and adjusted the straps – poor darling, she'd had them far too tight, biting into the soft skin of her shoulders. Aziraphale returned the favour, admiring how Crowley's silhouette changed so much with just a few bits of cleverly-sewn-together fabric. 

A little nervous, Aziraphale picked Crowley's favourite long skirt, black and shiny and with a slit up to her thigh that showed the scarlet lining. Warm tights because it was still chilly even indoors, and a close-fitted cashmere jumper finished the outfit, gently scolding Crowley into being warm enough, especially if they went out. To finish it off, she offered up combat boots, and was rewarded by Crowley's little yelp of joy, and a fair amount of posing in front of the mirror.

In turn, Crowley picked a simple day dress they knew Aziraphale would love, something sensible in pale blue and gold gingham, and a fuzzy mohair cardigan to go with it, to keep their lady-love warm. 

They giggled and did each others' hair, all intricate braids for Crowley and a little scalp massage for Aziraphale, her curls neatly combed and in place, and a pretty little flowered headband pulling them back.

“I don't know what that was, but I needed it,” Aziraphale confessed, when they finally ventured from the bedroom for the day. 

“Same.” Crowley caught hold of her and kissed her, still so in love they felt drunk. “Like I could take on the world and win.”

“Don't you dare,” Aziraphale said lazily. “I'm done with fighting and so are you.”

“Can't be done if I never started,” Crowley said cheerfully.

Aziraphale shook her head, and made her way through the bookshop, finally turning the sign to read OPEN to the outside world. There would likely be no customers, but the Principality of the Eastern Gate was now, officially, At Home to her beloved protectorate.

Aziraphale was wandering the stacks, looking for something nice to read when the door opened, not very much later. Crowley had been at the front desk making paperclip chains, and so got to be the one to greet their first visitor. They took great pride in vaulting over the desk with a whoop and practically into Damien's arms to get a kiss on the cheek in greeting.

“Hullo, stranger,” he said, one arm still around Crowley's waist. “I heard you've only gone and got a place in the country.”

“Damien, darling!” Aziraphale poked her head out from behind a bookcase and waved. “I'll put the kettle on in a moment, we've got to catch you up.”

“Please, let me,” Damien insisted. “No, Crowley, sit, we can gossip where your missus can't hear us.” He winked at them, and Crowley was really just far too soft, the way they melted at that. Honestly, it was embarrassing. They got out a plate of biscuits, at least, while the water boiled and Damien filled the teapot.

Crowley and Aziraphale had met him decades before, part of the darkest years when so many were dying, and Aziraphale was doing what she could, which wasn't enough. They helped him bury his lover far too young, and all three of them spent the next two days in Aziraphale's great bed. Crowley and Aziraphale held him between their bodies as waves of grief ebbed and flowed, until he could face the world again.

Damien fell in and out of contact with them over the years, as in the way of things, but always came back to London, and the bookshop, to catch up and rekindle the friendship. He was one of the rare ones that, somehow, survived far past when he ought to have died.

(Aziraphale swore up and down it wasn't her, just chance, and Crowley believed her.)

And now he was a distinguished old man, white-haired and handsome as could be, who was charming and gossipy and had never once mentioned the fact that Aziraphale and Crowley had never aged. And, apparently, also saw no need to comment on their gender changes.

The kettle boiled and Aziraphale finally emerged, setting down a small stack of books and accepting a warm hug and kiss with her cup of tea.

They caught Damien up on their impossible house, and heard his news in turn – some personal, and some of the little community that Aziraphale protected and cared for. (And Crowley too, of course, though they didn't like to speak of it. Not in so many words. It wasn't their place; of course they loved their children, and were fierce as Hell in protecting them. But this was what Aziraphale had been made for, and she could do things Crowley couldn't, and they loved her so much for that.) It was a wonderful visit with an old friend, who left with a promise to see them again next time they were in town, and to take proper care of himself in the meantime.

Aziraphale saw him out the door in order to indulge in another hug, and give him a kiss on his cheek, her own special blessing.

“You're well?” she asked quietly, as they stood at the threshold.

“As well as can be,” he promised, and reached for her hand. “You'll be there at the end, won't you?”

“Of course, darling. I promise. Though that's some time away, I hope.”  
He smiled, his eyes crinkling, and raised her hand to kiss the back of it. “Some time. Closer than it was. I'll see you again soon, Aziraphale.”

“And I, you,” Aziraphale promised. “I love you. Mind how you go, now.”

He smiled, and winked, and went out into the swirl of the crowd, and Aziraphale closed the door again and went to tidy away their dirty dishes.

Callers trickled in all afternoon, then, in ones and twos, overlapping a little here and there, but keeping up a steady stream of their friends both old and new. Crowley kept busy refilling the tin of biscuits and keeping the kettle going, and Aziraphale kept busy by getting entirely up in everyone's business. There were no secrets from her, either good or bad.

And there were new ones to care for too. Evelyn brought her friend Alice, an older woman just starting to transition, who lost her look of uncertainty the first time Aziraphale embraced her and kissed her cheek. Crowley doted on them both, teasing and flattering and plying them with tea with oh, just a drop of brandy, really, it's practically  _medicinal_ , don't you think? Absolutely  _required_ , on a day this blustery and grey.

Aziraphale played the part of long-suffering but indulgent partner to the hilt, and both women left in a cloud of laughter and promises to call in again. Crowley was a good ninety percent sure they were both glowing very slightly, but there wasn't enough time to confirm, because as they left, another visitor blew in on a gust of chilly springtime wind.

“Hi guys!” Annie sang out cheerfully, and well, Crowley couldn't blame her when she caught sight of Aziraphale and forgot how to make words come out of her face.

“My dear!” Aziraphale pulled her into a tight hug, and kissed her twice, once on each cheek. Crowley sincerely worried that the poor girl might pass out. “How have you been, sweetheart?”

“Uh. Um. All right.” She blinked. “You look...wonderful.” Her voice did a thing on the word 'wonderful'.

“Oh, this old thing? Crowley picked it out for me, it does flatter me a bit doesn't it?” Innocent as a tiny baby kitten, Aziraphale smoothed the bodice of the dress over her bosom.

Annie turned bright red, and stammered something about how pretty she was. It was. How pretty the dress was.

Crowley, who never did do well with second-hand embarrassment, swooped in and sent Azirpahale off to find the coffee, as that was what Annie drank and anyway, it was about time for something a little stronger. Also, it got her out of the bookshop and into the little kitchen upstairs.

“Oh my God oh my God ohhhh my _God_ ,” Annie hissed. “How. How do you. Function?”

“Honestly, I haven't the faintest fucking idea,” Crowley said. “Maybe I'm used to her?”

Annie screamed into a pillow while Crowley patted her back.

“She's so beautiful,” Annie informed the pillow.

“You should see her in overalls, swinging a hammer,” Crowley said glumly. They'd felt pretty scream-into-a-pillow themselves over the past. Well. Six thousand years?

Annie screamed into the pillow again.

“There there,” Crowley said, and stroked her hair. “She's the same frumpy old angel she was last time you saw her.”

“She was very handsome then too! I'm just a lesbian, okay!? I am out here just trying to live my best dyke life and _she_ rocks up and oh my _God_. I hate _everything_ , Crowley, I really do.”

Crowley didn't mean to laugh, but, well. 

Annie had a good sense of humour and a fair dollop of self-awareness, and she recovered enough to be giggling as well when Aziraphale came in with Irish coffees for all of them.

“How are you, precious?” she asked, giving Annie hers. 

She shrugged. “About as ever. Bit of a rough time last week, but I got through it.”

“Good girl,” Crowley praised, wrapping their arm around her shoulders and kissing her cheek. “All your coping techniques healthy ones?”

“Yes.” She looked shy, but smiled into her coffee. “Got a bit close there, don't mind telling you. But yeah. Got through it.”

“I'm so proud of you,” Aziraphale said. “I mean it. You're a strong, brave person, and we believe in you.”

“Thanks,” Annie mumbled, cheeks going pink again. “Tell me about your house?”

Talking of mundane things helped, and Annie was smiling and joking and teasing when it was time for her to head out. She still looked a bit like she was going to faint when Aziraphale hugged and kissed her goodbye, so Crowley saw her to the door, to give her a moment to recover.

“Hey Crowley?”

“Hmmm? Oh, you still have my number, right?” they asked.

“Yes, of course. And. uh.” She smiled shyly. “Sorry I went all gaga over your lady.”

“She's worth going gaga over,” Crowley assured her. “No harm done, sweetheart.”

“Oh, good.” She kissed their cheek. “You're beautiful too, by the way.”

“Thank you. You know you can call me, or text me, okay? If it gets too hard?” Crowley pulled her into a hug. “Aziraphale and I are right there, anytime you need us.”

“I know. Thank you. I love you.”

“Love you too, darlin'. Be good, but not too good.” Crowley winked, and saw her out into the falling night, watching to make sure she was safe until she was out of sight. After that, Aziraphale's protection took over.

“She's really all right?” Aziraphale asked anxiously, when Crowley had gone back to their little nook.

“She's fine,” they soothed. “Still has my number. She's, ah. She wasn't quite expecting...you, I think.” Crowley smiled. “Bit of a pash, as they used to say.”

“I – oh!” Aziraphale blushed and laughed. “Oh dear. I feel as though I ought to be sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, you're just very much her type, I think.” Crowley settled themself in Aziraphale's lap, and kissed her very nicely. “Shall I turn the sign to closed?”

Aziraphale put an arm tightly around them and snapped her fingers. “Done. No need to get up, love.” She kissed them back. “What a wonderful day it's been. I do love them all so much.”

“I know. And they love you.” Crowley cupped Aziraphale's face in their hands and touched their noses together, feeling playful and full of all the good things of the world. “Not too tired?”

Aziraphale shook her head. “No, Crowley. Little miracles, if any at all.” She smiled wider. “Dinner later?”

“My treat,” Crowley promised. “I know just the place.” They snuggled happily on Aziraphale's broad lap, and it didn't matter that they couldn't sense love – they had common sense, and they knew the shop was suffused with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damien is named in honour of [Damien Martin](https://makinggayhistory.com/podcast/damien-martin/).


	5. Chapter 5

Freddie Mercury sang them back to the countryside, and all was well in the world. Aziraphale was wearing one of her dapperest new suits, and Crowley took a picture and sent it to Annie, because they were at heart a terrible demon. The block of emoji and words they got back taught them some new and creative things, and Aziraphale scolded them for teasing the poor girl so.

“I ought to send her a picture of you, see what _I_ have to live with,” she complained.

“What, this old thing?” Crowley drawled. They were wearing a chic silk trouser suit under their even chic-er tweed driving coat, all in black but for a flaming red scarf and diamond earrings they'd borrowed from Aziraphale.

“You _know_ I love it when you mix textures,” Aziraphale moaned, twisting her hands in her lap, fingers just _itching_ to caress all that fabric over a well-loved body.

“Yes. Yes I do.” Crowley gave her a sly grin, kissed her cheek, and pressed the accelerator to the floor.

At some point while she was back in London, Aziraphale got it into her head that they ought to plaster the great hall that would become their sitting-room. It was an open, two-story structure with a sturdy frame and a series of architectural injustices visited upon it over the centuries. They'd got rid of the questionable wallpaper and decaying drywall at least, taking it down to a surprisingly sturdy plaster and lathe substrate. They had left the wide gallery around three walls on the second level and the great fireplace on the fourth wall, though. The room that had started life as a great hall begged to be used for all the best parts of living – snuggling by the fire, hosting friends in the vast open space, installing bookshelves and plants on the gallery level.

“The lady on the YouTube video said anyone can do it,” Aziraphale pointed out as they roamed the B&Q.

“She also said you should practice first,” Crowley noted.

“Oh, that's what the first floor is _for_ ,” Aziraphale said airily. “It's going to be all buried under bookcases and things. Honestly, you ought to believe in us more, darling. A bit of insulation, some plywood, a dash of plaster, and it'll be just lovely.” She sighed happily. “Imagine it in summer, Crowley, bright and glowing and full of your plants and my books. The rest of the house is so cozy with those little rooms, it'll be nice to have a really open space, don't you think?”

Well, fuck. Crowley could _see_ it. Not the antiseptic white awfulness of Heaven, but a clean organic space. Stone floors covered in rugs to protect poor demonic feet from early morning chill. A great crackling fire. Plants who _knew what was good for them_ , and bookcases of dark walnut. They could hang art on the walls, for hell's sake.

“Well, we can give it a go,” Crowley said dubiously. “How hard can it be?”

About the third time Aziraphale tried to wash plaster out of Crowley's hair, gave up, and miracled it away, they admitted that this was, perhaps, hard.

“Fuck it,” Crowley said, snapped their fingers, and grinned as they petted their newly-shaved head. There was just the tiniest bit of fuzz there – enough to beg to be petted and stroked but, hopefully, not enough to get tangled in a chunk of plaster mud.

“Ooooh,” Aziraphale breathed. “You never have shorter hair than I do!” She rested her hand on Crowley's head and cooed again. “Like velvet!” She scritched their scalp, and petted them gently. “Truly, Crowley, you look lovely. I've never seen your eyes so big.” Aziraphale moved her hand to tilt Crowley's chin up, and help herself to a little kiss. “Is there anything that doesn't flatter you?” she said admiringly.

“Nope,” Crowley said cheerfully, and snuggled against Aziraphale's legs. They were in the conservatory, watching the sun set and feeling quite good after a day of work. Sure the walls in the great hall weren't what you'd call perfect, but they'd done it themselves, and they were proud of that.

Aziraphale gave them a little neck-rub, since they were right there, and went back to petting their shorn head, enjoying the soft, thick hair.

“Now _I'm_ soft,” they murmured, resting their head against Aziraphale's knee. “On the outside, anyway.”

“Mmm. Only on the outside, of course,” Aziraphale said.

“Good of you to notice,” Crowley said.

“But of course. You're a hard-hearted, cynical demon,” Aziraphale cooed. “You love me, and nothing else in the world.”

“And don't you forget it,” Crowley announced to all and sundry.

“Not a thing about earth turns your head. Well, perhaps wine, a bit.”

“'s a sin,” Crowley said in the tone of someone who has won Most Knowledgeable at Satanic Sunday School meeting, 3457 BC through 2094 BC. (When they got bored and stopped going.)

“And you're very good at sinning,” Aziraphale all but sang out.

“Where, exactly, is this going?” Crowley asked, eyes narrowing.

“I know who's _dating_ and you _don't_ ,” Aziraphale definitely sang out.

“ _What_? Of our babies? Who? Tell me! Why don't I know? Wait, how do _you_ hear these things?” Crowley demanded. “I'm the one of us with a mobile!”

“You're the one of us who sleeps,” Aziraphale said smugly. “And takes naps. And sets their phone to silent so it doesn't wake you up but _I_ can see who's calling. Besides, aren't you a cold, cynical demon who doesn't believe in love?”

Crowley hissed, transformed into a snake, crawled up Aziraphale's body and poised to strike at her neck. “Tellll meeeee,” they hissed, before resuming their very scary striking-cobra pose.

“Good heavens, and people say I'm dramatic,” Aziraphale said, patting their little head. “Yes, it's some of our children. Annie and Aelis.”

Crowley transformed into a person so they could squeal aloud with human vocal chords. “Yes!”

Aziraphale laughed, catching them on her lap, one hand firm on their hip and the other around their back. “Well, they've gone on _a_ date. But Annie said it went really well.”

“She called? Is she okay?”

“She's fine,” Aziraphale soothed. “I promise. She truly did only call to tell us about the date.” Aziraphale did double-duty as Principality and matchmaker, for anyone who wanted it. She'd been working on getting Aelis someone for _ages_ now, and was pleased to see her dear ones joined. It would be a good match, she reckoned, with a little help along the way.

Crowley nodded. That would be permitted. Also, they could call Annie and get the goods themself.

“We'll have to see them both when we're in town next,” they decided. “Not that I think Annie'll stay away while you're female-presenting.” Their smile grew. “Aelis does look like you, a bit. That fair hair of hers, and the way she's built.”

“Oh, stop. She's got a nicer body, all plump and curvy, and she's bigger in the bosom,” Aziraphale protested, smiling.

Crowley looked her up and down, and decided this was an argument for another day, and it was better to just snuggle and be petted. They had bathed together and would go to dinner soon, but right now was just for them, and for loving one another in the golden evening light.

They dressed, Crowley in their usual jeans and very low-cut, very translucent shirt. This one had long sleeves in deference to the spring chill in the air. Aziraphale took her time, musing and picking one pair of trousers, then abandoning them, but finally landing on a lovely cream-coloured suit with a pretty cravat in her personal tartan.

“Give me a bit of make-up?” she asked. “I'll do your nails, love.”

Crowley smiled, feeling indulgent – well, to be fair, they always felt indulgent, but now even moreso. “Of course, sweet. Come and sit.” They'd moved Aziraphale's vanity into their bedroom a few weeks ago, and Crowley pulled an extra chair over, settling so she faced Aziraphale.

“Close your eyes, darling,” Crowley told her. Simple, clean colours and shapes; that's what Aziraphale liked best and what suited her. It was a little bit of a challenge (Crowley personally enjoyed painting for the cheap seats), but they could make it work. Eyeshadow of the softest pink, deep brown eyeliner, gently blended. Crowley rested a pinky finger on Aziraphale's cheek and made sure to tell her what they were about to do, so she wouldn't be startled. They kept their voice quiet, a little hushed at being allowed to do this for Aziraphale. Mascara, a hint of blush, and a sweet berry-pink lipstick. There wasn't much to it all, but Aziraphale's eyes glowed in the golden light, and when she smiled it seemed a bit more wicked.

Crowley held up an ornate silver hand-mirror, and was rewarded with a smile. “Oh, Crowley. You make me so beautiful.”

“The beauty's all there already,” Crowley said. “Honest, angel, I hardly did anything at all.” They accepted a kiss with good grace though, checked Aziraphale's lipstick to make sure it hadn't smudged, and took their turn.

They'd picked out a deep red varnish, as vampy as you please. With their shorn hair, Crowley felt dangerous and wild and very beautiful, and this was a colour for that.

Aziraphale worked carefully, her clever fingers never getting even a hint of polish on Crowley's skin. She was methodical, and far more careful than Crowley ever was, making sure everything dried completely between coats. It meant that a small miracle helped the topcoat dry in time for dinner, but Crowley's nails were bloody talons, perfect and shining, and they was pleased as could be.

Feeling their best, the two of them headed out into the night, each proudly wearing the others' work.

Spring came all at once that week, the mercury in the thermometer finally waking up and rising, the trees in full bud and the garden even showing signs of life. With a wind that smelled like apple blossoms, Crowley and Aziraphale took a few days off – they were nearly done the great hall. Anyway, it was far more fun to explore outside, breathing in the fresh, fragrant sea air and running around their garden, exclaiming over the daffodils that were coming up.

Even Crowley didn't stay in bed very late that first warm day, although Aziraphale always rose first. She came back to bed with her coffee, having flung the windows open (and made sure there was an extra blanket handy, for certain easily-chilled demons), and Crowley woke up hugging her her waist.

It was a day for a proper ramble, they agreed over breakfast.

“It's not like we have to finish by winter, or anything like that,” Aziraphale pointed out, as she dressed for roaming the countryside.

“Mmmm.” Crowley pulled a few things out of their wardrobe and frowned, then gave a little wriggle. There was a sensation of energy moving through their bedroom, more than a change of clothes would require, and Aziraphale stuck her head around the carved screen.

“Everything all right, love?” she asked.

Crowley nodded, and sighed happily, and stretched. “I think I want to be a woman for awhile,” she said, and admired the corporation she'd given herself in the mirror. Spare as ever, and she'd kept her hair cropped short, but very definitely female.

Aziraphale's face softened, and she came over to pull her girlfriend into a warm hug. “Beautiful,” she praised, and Crowley preened, snuggled against her.

“I ought to stay naked all day,” she said dreamily. “Like an Amazon. Did I ever tell you? I was with Eleanor when she pulled that trick during the Crusades. The windburn was quite something but _oh_ we were glorious.”

“An Amazon that's frozen her tits off!” Aziraphale teased, and Crowley laughed. “Were you really with her?” the angel asked. “That must have been a sight to see.” She tilted Crowley's face down, kissing her brow. “She was very beautiful, the queen. I was stuck with Henry.”

“Woof, he was a piece of work,” Crowley said. “Still. Peace for a few years.”

“Mmm, yes, there was that at least.” Aziraphale said. “Remember the Christmas court?”

Crowley smiled at the memory. “We nearly froze to death. Even you, angel. But it was beautiful, yes. Great fun.”

“Lots of running around old castles and all that,” Aziraphale agreed. She kissed Crowley again. “Once again, we do not have central heating,” she hinted. “Yet you're still cold-blooded.”

“Oh, fine,” Crowley said, and snapped her fingers to dress in what passed for sensible walking clothes. For her. Whatever, Aziraphale was literally wearing _plus-fours_ , and never mind that she was cute as a button in them and the flat cap didn't hurt a bit.

“I'll take you someplace warm on holiday, and you can skip clothes the whole time,” Aziraphale promised, touched when Crowley's eyes glowed at the prospect. “Oh, sweetheart. I really will, when it's properly summer and you won't get chilly.”

Crowley grinned. “You've got to be naked too.”

Aziraphale blushed prettily. “Well, we'll see.” She cleared her throat. “I believe there's a bluebell woods, just over the way, now, not more than a mile from here going by the OS map.”

“Then we'll have to see it,” Crowley said. She could work on the naked-Aziraphale bit. There were _months_ yet, to get her quite comfortable enough to walk around in nothing but her lovely skin in some quiet paradise, just the two of them in their own Eden.

The thought set Crowley to whistling out-of-tune as they set off together into the relative unknown of the farms and forests around them.

“Honestly?” Aziraphale said, looking at the Eames set that Crowley had set by the fire. “It works. It shouldn't, but it does.”

“What have I told you about metaphors, angel?”

Aziraphale sighed loudly. “We have discussed how this house is not a metaphor, it is a _house_. You're not funny, Crowley.”

“'Course I am. But you're right.” She tilted her head to one side, and came over to slip her arm around Aziraphale's waist. “It works.”

“Medieval hall, Victorian metalwork,” Aziraphale said, waving up to the gallery above them. “Modern furniture.” She smiled a little. “It does look comfortable. Are you sure it's yours?”

“Get _off_ ,” Crowley said, and pinched her. “My flat isn't that bad.”

“It is, actually,” Aziraphale replied absentmindedly, still taking in the room around them. “Well. Bed excepted.”

Crowley smiled and kissed her cheek. “Obviously.” She rested her head on Aziraphale's shoulder. “What else?”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale snapped her fingers, and a very comfortable Edwardian sofa and some chairs filled a corner away from the fireplace, but near windows with a lovely view. “For summertime,” she said.

“Excellent napping potential,” Crowley agreed.

Taking turns, they filled the space with their favourite art, bookcases and plants slowly populating the gallery, the two of them making the space theirs and theirs alone.

Crowley looked around, and knew what was missing. “One more thing?”

“Of course, dearest.”

She snapped her fingers, and the lectern from the church appeared. Quietly, in one corner; it wasn't necessarily a piece of woodwork worth writing home about, except for the part where it was inextricably linked with some of Crowley's softest, tenderest memories.

Going by Aziraphale's gasp, it may have had some small emotional impact for her too.

“Oh, darling. Yes. Perfect.” She turned and hugged Crowley tightly. “Thank you. I didn't know if you wanted to keep it as just yours. Put it in your study or keep it in your flat, I mean, and I didn't want to ask.” Aziraphale's eyes suddenly filled with unshed tears. “Goodness knows I already asked you for too much, that night.”

“Stop that,” Crowley said swiftly. “Don't you dare, angel. You didn't...you didn't ask.” She smiled and shook her head, not liking the feeling of being about to cry. “Not like in Paris.”

Aziraphale bit her lip. “No one would've blamed you, if you hadn't come,” she said softly. “I didn't deserve --”

“Shut _up_! You always deserve to be rescued!” Crowley cupped her own dear love's face in her hands, and kissed her. “Every single time. And _especially_ that time. You didn't do anything wrong, you just trusted, and Heaven was just going to let you be discorporated, and your books lost and _they_ would have won, in a way, and none of that was right at all.”

“I didn't deserve that from you.” Aziraphale's eyes spilled over, and oh _fuck_ , why was there crying _now_? Or ever. Crowley did not like it when Aziraphale cried. To say the least. “We'd fought, and I didn't understand, and I was so terrible to you --”

“Shh, shh. I could have explained. Or asked you in a sensible way. No, no, please don't cry, angel. Please. I love you. I loved you then. I loved you in my dreams, when I slept all those years,” Crowley begged. “Don't be sad.”

Aziraphale laughed, and wiped her eyes. “I'm not, not truly. I have a lot of emotions,” she said with great dignity, and smiled, even as tears dripped down her face. “You must forgive me. I'm not accustomed to being loved, yet.”

Jesus fuckety fucking Christ on eighteen pogo sticks, Crowley would have preferred it if Azirphale had literally torn her limb from limb. It would hurt less.

“I know,” she murmured, forcing herself into gentleness, as opposed to what she _wanted_ to do, which was...explode. Make a star. Light the world on fire and go to Heaven and bawl God out like no one had ever gotten a bollocking before. “I know, dear heart. Some things just take time, eh?” She kissed Aziraphale's wet cheek, and her neck, nosing against the linen collar. She kissed her chin and between her eyes and the top of her curly head, and her mouth, sipping the slowest, softest kiss she could from Aziraphale's mouth.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I always love you. Someday you'll take it for granted, and I can't _wait_.”

Aziraphale shook her head, and returned the kiss, hard. “Never that. I might be used to it someday, but I'll never take you for granted, love.” She pressed her face into Crowley's neck, and they held each other, the frantic emotions of the moment slowly fading.

“Maybe I ought to keep it in my study?” Crowley offered, and Aziraphale smiled.

“Maybe. Keep it here until that's done?” she asked, and went over to the lectern, caressing the polished, well-worn wood. “Then we can decide.”

“All right,” Crowley said. “As long as it doesn't cause you pain?”

Aziraphale shook her head. “No, dear, not that.” She smiled a little. “I don't know why a reminder of _my_ gullibility and your poor burned feet doesn't cause _you_ pain, but here we are.”

“It's not that,” Crowley protested. She smiled. “It's a reminder of – well. That I rescued you. I was very dashing, wasn't I?” she said dreamily, remembering.

“Very handsome, you vain old thing,” Aziraphale teased, and oh good. If Aziraphale was calling out her sins, everything was going to be all right, despite that 'I'm not used to being loved' utter _bullshit_ that Crowley was dedicating the rest of her existence to deprogramming. Honestly, even on simply a theological level, the fact that an angel wasn't accustomed to being loved – well, God ought to be ashamed. If Crowley ran the universe, Aziraphale would have been loved every instant of her existence, and she'd _know_ it, too.

Really, the state of the universe these days. It was a miracle anything got done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The house is totally not a metaphor you guys, honest.
> 
> Also! The lady who believe anyone can learn the plaster that they mention is Leah from [See Jane Drill](https://www.youtube.com/user/seejanedrill), the best Youtube channel in existence.


	6. Chapter 6

Aziraphale was her usual cheerfully bitchy self through dinner, ragging on Crowley and making eyes at her, unfailingly loving and affectionate and with just the tinge of judgemental that kept her rather delicious to know. (Especially now that she didn't turn it on Crowley – not in any important way, at least.) They lingered over pudding, and then over the last bottle of wine, not wanting the lovely evening to end.

They had gossiped about everyone they knew, and a fair number they remembered from days long gone by; Crowley's mention of Eleanor of Aquitaine had set off a store of reminiscences. Of the brilliant queen, of course, and of Henry and his terrible, doomed sons. Of the Christmas court they had both attended. Aziraphale remembered the food, and Crowley the entertainment, and they brought that world alive to each other again.

They had only gone to their village pub, and so walked home hand-in-hand through quiet byways, cutting between fields of sleeping sheep and land freshly-planted. The stars wheeled overhead, and Crowley paused them – at a crossroads, one could be predictable once in awhile – and kissed her lady-love under the sky.

Aziraphale looped her arms around Crowley's neck and kissed back, savouring everything. There was no chance she would take any of this for granted. Maybe someday she'd stop expecting Crowley to realise how cruel Aziraphale had been, how she could have done...everything...better. But never, ever, would this not be something special and tender and to be cherished.

“You'll come to bed with me tonight?” Crowley asked softly, as they resumed their walk home.

“Yes, love. Of course. Maybe even sleep a bit.” Aziraphale smiled and helped Crowley over a stile, and then clambered over it herself.

“Good.” And then it was just the sound of wind and sleeping animals and the earth waking up in spring that saw them the rest of the way home.

Aziraphale did sleep in the end; enough so that she was still fast asleep when Crowley blinked her eyes open the next morning.

Ohh, _goody_. She never got to enjoy a sleeping angel; not enough, anyway. 'Every day, plus a nap on Sundays' might come close to _enough_ , but that was a pretty far reach.

Well, so be it; Crowley would be happy with what she had, which was a naked Aziraphale lying in bed beside her, relaxed and sweet as could be. They'd both skipped wearing anything to bed the night before; it was warm enough, and anyway, they had wanted to press their bodies together as Crowley fell asleep, skin to skin.

And now all that skin was there to be gazed at, after Aziraphale had pushed the blankets away in her sleep. She lay on her side, one hand under the pillow and the other spilling over her body, falling into the space between her breasts and her belly.

Gravity loved Aziraphale's body. Her breasts, small as they were, had enough to them that they dipped and settled, the uppermost one turning into a beautiful angle, her nipple, small and lovely, giving it an apex before the weight of warm flesh curved beautifully underneath.

And her belly, her soft little belly that was made for kisses and bites, that too was heavy and relaxed, slumped softly against the mattress and looking like the most kissable thing in the world.

The blanket was still around Aziraphale's hips, giving just a peek of the way her body curved; broad shoulders, then in to her sweet waist, before rising again, a perfect hill of her body.

Crowley licked her lips, and stared, and loved so hard, she was pretty sure, that Aziraphale started to wake up.

“Mmm?”

“Shh,” Crowley said, and reached out, running a single scarlet fingertip across Aziraphale's belly, denting the soft skin, but of course not leaving a hint of a mark behind. “I'm here, love. We're in the country again.” Just in case she was a little thrown off by waking up.

“Mmmm.” Aziraphale smiled wider and snuggled down, and peeped one eye open. “Morning, dearest.”

“Good morning, angel.” Crowley kissed the tip of her upturned nose. “You're enchanting, by the way. Must we get up?”

“You just want to stare at my tits,” Aziraphale mumbled. “Don't know why. You've given _yourself_ bigger.”

“Because they're yours, my darling idiot. And they're perfect.” Crowley reached out, cupping one breast delicately. This wasn't foreplay or anything like that – but appreciation, and love, and the quiet adoration they had for one another's bodies, all this had to be taken carefully. “Bigger isn't automatically better. Your breasts are beautiful, and so is the rest of you.”

Aziraphale smiled sleepily, eyes blinking a little more awake. She didn't seem inclined to get up though – good. Crowley did like a good lie-in, and she particularly liked a lie-in like this one.

“You are too,” she murmured, reaching over and stroking the soft skin between Crowley's breasts, down to her belly, and a little tickle at her navel.

“Oi,” Crowley said, sucking her stomach in and moving it out of reach.

Aziraphale just giggled and wriggled closer, so they could properly get their arms around each other.

“We have to get up soon,” she murmured into Crowley's hair. “Lots to do.”

“We don't, really,” Crowley said, really trying to _sell_ sloth. “'s just my study.”

“Unh-unh. You decided to sell the flat, so you should have a space that's all yours first.” Aziraphale gave her a little squeeze. “And we should take care of the worst of the garden before it starts to grow again.”

Crowley gave a little wriggle at that idea. Get some dirt under her nails? And on her feet and ground into her knees, and sweat and sunshine and fresh air? Ah, now that was tempting.

“Let's work outside today? I promise I'm not...being all me about the study,” she said. “I just really want to work outside with you.”

“All right. Crowley, love. You can do what you want.” Aziraphale smiled and framed Crowley's face in her hands. “As you keep telling me. Anyway, I want to work outside with you too.” A soft kiss. “I want you to have a place of your own, sweetheart. But I want you to be happy more.”

“I'm happy,” Crowley said, before her throat didn't work anymore, on account of it hurt and felt like something was stuck in it. She was so happy. Happy in a way she'd never known before, even when she was laughing her ass off at some famous party, full of demonic glee and the promise of sin. She pushed herself further into Aziraphale's arms, starting to shake a little. Never, ever should the angel think that Crowley wasn't exactly where she wanted most to be.

“There now,” Aziraphale whispered. “I know. I love you too, darling. Hold onto me, long as you need to.” Sometimes Crowley had a lot of feelings, and a moment, and a few hugs, were needed.

When she was down to the normal number of feelings, Crowley eased in Aziraphale's arms. They kissed, sweet and soft, and Aziraphale gave her an extra kiss just because.

“There now,” she said, and petted Crowley's hair. “Now, I don't know about you, but I could use a spot of breakfast. Just a boiled egg and some toast, I think, and a cup of coffee.”

“I'm not hungry,” Crowley said from the safety of Aziraphale's broad arms. “But coffee sounds good. I'll make it,” she offered, because fair was fair if she was going to drink some.

“Good. You make it best,” Aziraphale said, because she was an unfair, cruel angel who didn't care even a little bit about giving Crowley more feelings than her body could hold _and_ topping it off with _another_ sweet little kiss before crawling out of bed and going over the little kitchenette they were still using in the corner of their bedroom.

Further unfairness continued, as Aziraphale ate her breakfast entirely in the nude, even as she chased Crowley into a dressing gown, pointing out that the air was still early-spring cool. That the dressing gown was warm and beautiful and draped alluringly over Crowley's spare body was _entirely beside the point_ , how could you intimate such a thing, you terrible demon.

“I'm just trying to keep you warm, darling,” Aziraphale protested.

“Mmm. Yes. I'm sure.” Crowley winked at her and sipped her coffee. She thought a little bit, and decided that she was not, actually, above some emotional manipulation. “I understand, love. You already spent the night with my cold, scaly feet pressed against you. Be like having breakfast with a coathanger, really, if I was as naked as you. We can't all be a luscious hourglass.”

The glare Aziraphale gave her was _amazing_. Honestly, why hadn't she ever deployed that against the angels? Gabriel would have burst into flame where he stood.

“Do _try_ to have a little nuance when you fish for compliments, darling,” Aziraphale informed her, dipping her toast soldier into a soft boiled egg and chomping on it pointedly.

“What?” Crowley asked innocently.

Well, hell. She really didn't have much of a poker face without her sunglasses, which – why would she wear those around Aziraphale? Her lady knew Crowley had yellow eyes. She didn't even much try for human iris and sclera anymore. Might as well give into giggles.

“You know _very well_ I think you're the most beautiful creature I've ever set eyes on,” Aziraphale said, dignity intact, as she rose and walked over to her wardrobe to select the day's costume, bottom waving deliciously as she walked.

“I think you should know that I hate you,” Crowley called after her.

“We _are_ hereditary enemies,” Aziraphale said, voice a little muffled as she flicked through options. “It's the expected thing. Get behind me, foul demon, and all of that.” Her selections made, she closed the wardrobe doors neatly, blew Crowley a kiss, and went behind her dressing screen.

Crowley was happy enough to shrug off her dressing gown and snap her fingers and call it done, and Aziraphale emerged a few minutes later wearing a practical pair of canvas trousers, boots, and a sturdy cotton shirt.

“Good heavens, you're nearly dressed for the day's activities,” she observed, smiling as she looked Crowley up and down. Jeans cuffed up above her ankles, shirt with sleeves likewise rolled up to her elbows, all in her usual black; Crowley didn't look too different from usual.

“Won't your feet get cold?” Aziraphale asked as they stepped out into the soft sunshine.

Crowley sighed deeply and let her toes sink into the rich loam. “Don't care. Got to get the feel of the dirt. Won't know what goes where 'til I do.”

“All right, love. But if you get cold, we take a break, all right?” Aziraphale touched her arm. “I mean it. The garden will still be here, but I'll be sad if I'm nursing a miserable little snake this evening, instead of planning what to plant where while we polish off that bottle of cabernet.”

“Aw, angel...”

“I'll warm you up if you get chilly,” Aziraphale promised with a wink. “Now. What should I do? You know I've not gardened since that time I was a monk.”

Crowley, who remembered _that_ little adventure, chose her words carefully. “I s'pose we'd better clear away anything dead first. You start on that bramble patch over there, yeah?”

Aziraphale got to work, and Crowley almost felt bed for giving her the scutwork, but, well, she was _good_ at it. And...less good...at many other aspects. Really, it was best to just point her at something and let her rip, as long as there wasn't any danger of her accidentally pulling up anything important.

Not one to appear lazy, Crowley pulled obvious weeds and things where she saw them as she walked the land. The garden really was ridiculous; half-wild and half-tamed, meadow mixed with bare dirt that had obviously once been a kitchen garden. She found a little grove of fruit trees, including apples – of course – and she smiled as she stroked the gnarled trunk. When the tree began to blossom, she would lay out a blanket and feed Aziraphale all the foods she liked best, and pamper her angel in the manner she deserved. There were cherry trees as well, and something that might be hazelnut, and a few others that Crowley couldn't quite tell just yet. Perhaps they could raise bees, she thought, and smiled at that. Make their own honey, and it was good to have bees around anyway. Clever little things.

She'd keep the meadow wild, where their land ran into a little forest. Maybe throw in a few handfuls of seeds. Aziraphale liked poppies and snapdragons, and those would do well and fit the landscape here. They'd have to keep an eye on that holly tree and the way it was already fighting with the oak, the two of them crowned with mistletoe. Honestly, for the eye-rolling poetic allegories alone, Crowley would have cut them down, but of course the trees hadn't done anything wrong. Still – wouldn't do for them to all strangle one another, and die.

She rested a hand against the oak tree's trunk, and smiled. The house had been the exciting part, of course, but to have her own little Eden? Not just houseplants, but trees and herbs and flowers, and a real garden? Oh yes, she was _home_. In a way even Aziraphale, for all that she was Crowley's whole heart, wasn't home.

Crowley followed the fence line through the tall grass, and round to where Aziraphale was making short work of the brambles.

“Want help?” Crowley offered, but Aziraphale shook her head. A single slice with a machete, and another thick bush fell before her. A flick of her arm, her shoulders flexing against her shirt, and the bramble went flying to join its brethren in a pile and Crowley's mouth went dry.

“I'm fine, dear,” she said cheerfully. “You're planning, I can see it in your eyes.” Another hack – oh, this must be a nasty one, Aziraphale had to raise the machete again to fully split it away. “We're going to have to dig the roots up, aren't we?”

“Uh huh,” Crowley said, and shook herself. “Uh, yes. We can burn what you're cutting back and take a shovel to the rest.” She swallowed, and tried to think of Hastur and walls that shouldn't be licked and anything to get her brain back to working. “Any requests for the garden?”

“Oh, no, dear, not really. This is your domain.”

“Well, yeah, but it's for both of us,” Crowley protested. “There's a really pretty meadow. I bet I could get poppies to grow there.”

Aziraphale smiled, shy and sweet. “Oh, Crowley, that would be wonderful. So pretty. Ah. Actually.” She blushed a little. “Would you grow lavender, please? If there's room for it, or a place where it will do well. It'll smell so nice on a summer evening...”

“I'll grow anything you want,” Crowley promised. She held out a hand, and waited for Aziraphale to put the giant sharp knife down to pull her in close and kiss her cheek. “There's already apple trees for us, love. And I thought we could have bees, too. Make honey for your tea.” She touched a fingertip to Aziraphale's lips. Her fingers and toes were cold to the touch, and Aziraphale was so _warm_ , it made Crowley shiver. How did they _work_? Aziraphale was all light and movement and strength and Crowley was...Crowley.

She was beloved, though, despite all common sense. Aziraphale took Crowley's hands in hers and breathed on the fingertips, instantly making them tingling and warm. A kiss warmed Crowley's lips, and then her whole being, from the tip of her fuzzy, shaved head to her scaly toes.

“Honey for your tea, too. Or mead, if we get enough. Flowers for your study, and roses because you love them,” Aziraphale said. “It's no fun if we're not sharing, my dear.”

Crowley felt wobbly all over, but she nodded, and Aziraphale folded her into a hug. Crowley wondered if maybe she was a little wobbly too, since they stood there for a good long stretch, until a crow flew overhead and told the world what he, or she, thought of it, and Crowley had to giggle.

Aziraphale kissed her once again. “Off with you, sweetheart, I don't want to catch you with the machete. I'll find you when I'm done here, all right? You can tell me what to do next.”

“All right,” Crowley said, and kissed her again. “Thank you. Truly. You're much faster at this than I am.”

“Also, I can't be trusted not to take out something important,” Aziraphale said ruefully, then smiled and winked. “Bugger off, you. I don't want to miracle you healed, all right? Your blood gets _everywhere_ , I don't know how you do it.”

“I'm not going to just walk in _front_ of it,” Crowley grumbled, although she also cleared off.

“That's not what I remember from 1089!”

“Wait, AD or BC?” Crowley asked, after a moment of consideration.

“Both,” Aziraphale called cheerfully over one shoulder. “Shoo. Go figure out where to put your roses.”

Crowley stuck her tongue out, because she was _pretty_ sure she was ahead on the rescuing-the-other scale, even if only slightly. Until the next scrape, anyway; at least she probably wasn't going to have to break Aziraphale out of prison again. Almost certainly. Probably?

No blood was shed, though, as Aziraphale cleared away first brambles, and then a fallen-in bit of fence that would need repairing once they'd learned how to repair fences. The stone wall that bordered two sides of their land was in fine shape at least.

By mid-afternoon the sun had vanished behind clouds, Crowley had mapped out the gardens and was already making a list of seeds and plants to order, and Aziraphale had worked part of the day stripped to the waist after she ripped her shirt on a nail no one had noticed and Crowley had _not_ put there, absolutely not, banish the thought.

“If I had been clever enough to think of that, I would have made sure it _only_ ripped your shirt,” she pointed out as she passed her hand over the soft skin of Aziraphale's back, healing the deep scratch there. She did not offer to repair Aziraphale's shirt, on account of she wasn't stupid.

Aziraphale had narrowed her eyes, but had finished out her work without a shirt, reckoning it was the warmest part of the day anyway. No one had told her about sports bras, and she had felt no need to wear _any_ bra, and Crowley certainly wasn't going to bring it up. Demonic, despite much evidence to the contrary, didn't _automatically_ mean stupid.

That evening, Crowley made sure the water in their great bath was steaming and fragrant, infused with salt and herbs to soothe aching muscles. She helped Aziraphale in for a well-deserved soak as rain began to patter down on the roof of the conservatory. As usual, Crowley quite liked the rain as long as she was firmly inside, preferably with a drink of some sort.

It was chilly enough that they forewent wine – at least for the moment – in lieu of a strong cup of tea, the better to warm and comfort inside and out.

Aziraphale was quiet as she sipped from her mug. She had settled on a beautiful, undulating platform that was covered in pretty blue tile and cradled her body, elevating her legs and giving her something sturdy to lean back against, floating a little in the hot water. She watched the rain, and Crowley decided that she didn't much like the look in Aziraphale's eyes, so set her mug down and moved to float for a little by her lady-love.

“Tell me your heart?” she asked softly. “You look sad.”

“Oh, I'm not, really,” Aziraphale assured her, and smiled. “This is so nice, Crowley. I don't thank you enough for it.”

“You do,” Crowley said. “'Sides, it's the least I can do.” You loved me when I was unlovable. No one loves demons, but you love me, and I'll never ever understand it, she didn't say. “You were a machine out in the garden today,” she _did_ say, because, well, Aziraphale _was_ , and maybe she'd focus on that and not the deeper feelings.

“Was I?” She brightened a little at that. “Oh good. I worry, you know.”

“...about the brambles?” Crowley asked cautiously. Aziraphale worried about...a lot, really.

“Oh, no. I mean, even if we didn't clear them, we could make jam.” Aziraphale sighed and set her mug aside and closed her eyes. “Ugh. I'm sorry, darling. I'm annoying _myself_.”

“That's one of us, then.” Crowley rubbed her belly, always a little comfort for them both. “What are you worried about, angel?”

“I'm _useless_.”

Crowley blinked. “I'm _sorry_?”

“Well, I am.” Aziraphale looked over at her, and blinked again, eyes shiny. “I'm learning as fast as I can, but I know I'm not very good at things. I'm strong, but that's about all I can offer you, at least in the garden.” She paused, thinking of the rest of the house. “And outside of it, too. I'm trying, Crowley, I swear that I am.”

“I. Wot. I...don't...hang on.” Crowley shook her head, and took a deep breath. Aziraphale was being really, really brave, saying this. She was always so brave. She'd been the first to kiss Crowley, way back when they'd started this kissing business. Back when the apocalypse hadn't happened, she had kept fighting to the end when Crowley gave up because Satan was coming. She was rightly afraid of so much, and so brave, so Crowley could be brave too.

“In that case. I'm. Useless. Too,” Crowley ground out, eyes closed tight, her hand flat on Aziraphale's belly, the contact giving her a little courage.

“You are not!”

“Then neither are you!” Crowley blinked her eyes open. “And so what if you really were! So what if you weren't strong, if you couldn't help at _all_ for some reason? I would still love you _so much_ Aziraphale. I love what you can do but I love _you_ more.” She snapped her mouth shut, deathly afraid that what she was saying went the other way, and that was a feeling she really could not even begin to deal with. She could, if she didn't look at it head on or seriously verbally acknowledge it in any way or even think about it too much, believe that Aziraphale loved her. Believe that Aziraphale was _in love_ with her.

Her brain skittered away from such things. Safer to let them continue on, un-observed, lest observation prove them false.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said softly. “Oh, Crowley.” She sat up, and turned, and drew Crowley into her arms, sitting on her lap, on those luscious thighs. “Dear heart.” She pressed a kiss to Crowley's throat. “I want to be useful,” she tried to explain. “I want to earn my keep.”

“I know,” Crowley said. “I get it. I do.” She sighed and pressed her face into Aziraphale's neck, breathing in the herbs she'd put in the water, her face pressed against wet skin. “I think I want the same. Just. Just know that no matter what, you're useful to _me._ ” She clenched her teeth against too much emotion. _Brave_. She was being brave. “Just existing. That's the only thing I ever need from you.”

Aziraphale nodded, and stroked her back, and Crowley realized she was shaking. Satan's _entire ballsack_ , she was a useless girlfriend. Here was Aziraphale, sad over something, and Crowley was the one needing comfort.

“You understand,” Aziraphale said, and kissed her, and smiled, and okay. They were going to be okay. “I think that's part of why I love you. No one in all of creation ever understood me, but _you_ do.”

Crowley smiled, a little wobbly. “Y'sure it's not my suave personality and stunning looks?” she asked.

Aziraphale laughed and petted her hair, silk-velvet from the water. “Well, you are stunning,” she said.

“And suave?” Crowley added hopefully.

“Crowley, I've watched you trip over absolutely nothing too many times.”

“That's not my fault,” Crowley protested. “My hips get confused! They're not even supposed to exist!”

Aziraphale's face went all soft and tender and _ugh_ oh no abort abort this was _not_ where Crowley intended things to go, to this _softness_. It was too much for a poor demon lass to bear.

(Crowley sometimes wondered if all demons could be slayed by a pretty angel who loved them and was kind to them, or if it was just her. She suspected it was just her, but did add it to her list of questions for God, should they ever be on speaking terms again.)

“Poor hips,” Aziraphale said, and laid a hand on one of said hips, narrow and poky and, Crowley thought, rather badly-behaved. Aziraphale rubbed her thumb over the bump where bone pressed against skin, and Crowley melted a little. “We'll have to take it easy when they get confused,” she continued. “Take a break. Have a little cuddle until they can behave again.”

“Urk,” Crowley said.

“I mean it.” Aziraphale smiled and kissed her. “I love you, Crowley. Because you're you. But also, because you know why I feel useless. You _understand_. That's worth everything.”

“Even yellow eyes that don't work right and hips that go funny sometimes and. Uh. Me? Like, in general?”

“Everything you're naming is something I love,” Aziraphale said.

“Well, fuck,” Crowley managed, before she had to hide her face in Aziraphale's neck again, the two of them still held in soft, fragrant waters, as rain pattered down above and around them.


	7. Chapter 7

“I still don't see why we have to clean. Patina! That's the thing, innit?”

“Anthony J Crowley, you are the one that constantly tells me that my bookshop is dusty and smells funny.” Aziraphale sat back and glared up at her from under the cheerful red kerchief that covered her silver-blonde curls. “Wait.” She thought for a moment. “Still Anthony, dear heart?”

Crowley shrugged. “Sure. 's my name.”

“Just wanted to check. _Now_. Get down here, Crowley, and help me scrub your study floor.”

Crowley flopped down with a moan of protest, but got down and grabbed a scrub brush, so Aziraphale left her to her theatrics.

They could clean a room, at least, even if their renovation skills weren't necessarily groundbreaking. Crowley had decided to keep the oak paneling in the room, which they guessed was, if not 17th-century original, pretty bloody close. Aziraphale was not looking forward to washing the intricate carvings, but it clearly badly needed doing – some of the dust was likely 17th-century itself, at least in the corners.

Blessedly, everything was in decently good shape, though the fireplace needed to be cleaned, and a few panels of the windows were cracked, so they would have a bit of a holiday after dealing with the great hall. Aziraphale was willing to give anything a good try, but she thought removing a pane of antique, diamond-shaped bits of glass held together with a network of lead caning, replacing one of those diamonds, and getting the whole thing installed again...well, she'd have to go the library at least, and get in some hearty research. Best to try and repair it in place instead.

The room was oddly positioned in the house (as were all of the rooms in their hous), almost a passageway on the first floor, with only empty space under it to move from their front garden to the back, though  _that_ passageway dipped well below even the ground floor, so that there were strange half-flights of steps to navigate. If they talked about it too much, it all seemed slightly impossible, so they didn't talk about it; instead, they cleaned.

This section of the house was almost two rooms really, a large one that would become Crowley's study, and a smaller one that acted as a kind of hallway, but which had a bank of windows that looked out onto the front garden. Aziraphale thought that there might be just enough room for a comfortable chair, and perhaps a small shelf of books above it. She would have her library, of course; there was one with shelves already built in, courtesy someone in the Georgian period. But it couldn't hurt to have a reading nook.

Especially not one so close to Crowley's little demesne. Very convenient, like.

That would have to be tackled another day, though; for now they scrubbed and dusted and polished, and noted carvings that needed repair.

The two of them settled into a quiet, cheerful busyness after lunch, with Crowley going about with wood filler, looking for the easiest bits to repair and getting herself completely covered in the stuff in the process. Aziraphale, for her part, took on an almost holy silence as she carefully mixed resin, filled a syringe, and began to repair the cracks in the glass, dribbling it in just enough to rejoin what had gone asunder. As the resin trickled in, the cracks disappeared, and she couldn't stop a very proud smile as she made the windows perfect for her sweetheart. The glass was warped enough that the view of the back garden wasn't  _quite_ crystal-clear, but one got the idea that nature was out there. And, anyway, for the first year or two a bit of blurriness wouldn't go awry, until they got the garden properly tamed.

They worked until the sun began to sink low in the sky, and it was perhaps time to begin thinking about a cocktail or two, just to bid farewell to the work day. Aziraphale insisted on a quick shower and a change of clothes for herself, while Crowley was content with a snap, so it became her task to mix a few martinis and pull together an emergency cheese plate.

Aziraphale threw on a gauzy, pale blue dress, startlingly modern in its floor-length and how the smocked top hugged her breasts, adding an almost inevitable mohair cardigan over the top, to keep her shoulders warm.

Crowley clucked over her a little bit, for the look of the thing, and felt very slightly butch herself when she built them a little fire and settled at Aziraphale's feet, head resting on her knee and all but purring as Aziraphale petted her short-cropped hair.

“Beautiful,” Aziraphale praised. “Like copper, in this light.” She tapped Crowley's nose with her forefinger, and smiled down at her. 

Crowley tilted her head back, the better to look up at her lady-love, the way the light danced across her face and lit her hair up into white fluff. She reached a languid arm up, petted soft mohair, and groped only a little awkwardly until she could caress Aziraphale's jaw, and feel a kiss pass over her fingertips.

“We'll finish your study tomorrow,” Aziraphale continued. “I've only got a few panes of glass to go, and then I can help with repairing the carvings.”

“Mmm.” Work seemed a thousand miles away to Crowley just then. Sure, they had this great rambling impossible house, but right _now_ she was sat snuggled against Aziraphale's calves, her angel caressing her scalp, in their own bedroom. If Crowley turned her head, she could see their wardrobes side by side; looking the other way would reveal their little kitchenette, now mostly covered in martini-making supplies.

Or she could close her eyes and memorize every crackle of the fire, the hardness of Aziraphale's knees under her cheek, the tender way she was being touched, and tuck it away for all time.

“Zira?” she whispered.

“What is it, love?”

“Are you ever afraid this will all go away?” Crowley pretended she meant the physical structure, waving her hand around a little. Of course, that would decay in time. They were immortal, as far as they both could tell; they would outlive the Earth someday, and go and live among the stars. Probably?

“No, love. I'm not.”

Crowley startled, and looked up at her. “Aziraphale...”

She smiled, a particularly sweet look on her face. “I know, I know. It's the only thing I don't worry about. But shall I tell you why, dearest?”

Crowley nodded.

“Because I know, if you ever grew...away from me. If we ever parted ways, it would hurt my heart, but I would let you go, because I love you so.” She held up a finger to forestall Crowley's protest. “ _Listen_ to me. If it was your choice, and yours alone, I would leave. If _any other being_ , any power, any God or natural disaster or _anything_ tried to take you from me, I would burn down the universe before I let that happen. I would split my atoms apart, eat the sun, light the sky on fire, if it would save you.”

“You can do all of that,” Crowley said, a little mesmerized.

“Mmm. Cherubim, and all that.” Aziraphale rested her hand on the back of Crowley's head, thumb stroking her hair. “I don't fear losing any of this, because I know I won't. They'd have to destroy both of us, and I wouldn't let them. No matter who _them_ is.”

Crowley smiled up at her, soft and shy. “I'm not as powerful as you.”

“No, but you're clever in ways I'm not.” Aziraphale put her drink aside and slid down to the rug, so they could tangle together. “Just like I have strengths that you don't.” She laughed, and touched a fingertip to the corner of one eye, possibly to wipe away a tear. “I'm sure I look very silly to you. To worry more about where we'll buy good eggs, than losing you, who I love beyond all measure.”

“No.” Crowley tried to speak, and failed a few times, before she could get the words out. “You look as brave as I always knew you were.”

“Oh, my dearest.” Aziraphale blinked, gave a wet kind of a laugh, and hugged Crowley to her, the two of them embracing tightly. 

At least Aziraphale couldn't talk then either, Crowley thought ruefully, as she held her and rubbed her back and kissed her neck.

They finished the study together, Aziraphale pitching in with the wood infills when she finished the windows. And if she made sure to work so close to Crowley that their arms brushed from time to time, well, no great matter. It was very convenient, really – especially when Crowley spotted a quick repair a bit out of reach, and Aziraphale was right there to hold her up so she could work on it.

Crowley, for her part, found being hoisted in the air by her girlfriend to be, well, quite an experience. Aziraphale held her steadily, not that she'd expect anything different. There was a moment where her heart skipped a beat, a-long buried memory that arms like bands of iron around her legs brought back, a memory of a memory of agony and punishment.

But she breathed, and looked down, and saw only a curly head of soft blonde hair, Aziraphale's cheek pressed to her hip, holding her steadily for as long as she might need. Crowley smiled, and got to work, and when she was done and Aziraphale settled her on the ground again, well, there she was in the angel's arms.

“That was very nice,” Aziraphale admitted, going a little pink as she had the _temerity_ to flex a little, easing tight biceps, even as she still held her poor, innocent girlfriend who was very vulnerable to such things.

“Tell me about it,” Crowley said, very pointedly ignoring the moment of bad memory. It was gone, and it was now, and Aziraphale was back to holding her with the usual gentleness.

And she laughed, and kissed Crowley's cheek. “I think we're nearly done in here anyway,” she pointed out, and her smile grew. “It's quite warm out, sweetheart. Shall we put out a blanket and have a picnic lunch?”

“Anything you like,” Crowley promised, resting one hand on Aziraphale's waist. The canvas trousers she wore were hard to the touch, rather unlike her usual stuff. It was interesting, to know how much softness lay beneath the unforgiving surface and with _that_ metaphor that required no additional musing whatsoever thanks, Crowley called an end to thinking for the day, kissed Aziraphale, and went to tidy her things away and plan what kind of sushi would miraculously appear on their picnic blanket.

The breeze was still springtime-chilled, but Aziraphale found a corner of the garden where the stone walls came together and they were sheltered by the sun-warmed rocks. Crowley outdid herself with the food, and Aziraphale with the little cups of saki, just a reward for their hard two hours' graft of the morning. The alcohol must have encouraged the angel a bit – or simply the day, and the freedom, and because Crowley was right there sat up against the low wall, and she could lie down with her head pillowed on Crowley's lap, snuggled up to her legs.

“Sure you don't want a pillow?” Crowley asked, bemused.

“Quite sure,” Aziraphale said. She smiled and closed her eyes, giving a soft little sigh as she relaxed more deeply in the sunshine. “I love your body.”

“Oh, angel.”

“Well, it's true! I don't tell you very much, and I'm sorry about that.” She stroked the long, hard line of Crowley's leg, fingers easy over the soft denim. “You're all over me – “

“And rightly so!” Crowley interjected.

“Hush. I'm not complaining. Just trying to give a little back.” She nuzzled Crowley's thigh, turned her head to kiss the soft denim, and wriggled her arms so she was hugging Crowley's legs.

“I don't go lacking for anything with you,” Crowley promised softly. She stroked Aziraphale's hair and smiled down at her, at the arms easy around her legs and the very satisfied smile on her angel's face.

“And you won't, either,” Aziraphale sniffed, and the embrace turned rather protective.

Crowley thought about it, and decided she rather liked being protected by Aziraphale, especially when it meant her sybaritic angel was stretched out, warm against her legs and snuggling happily, very content to just let Crowley card her fingers through her hair, scritching with her long nails which knew  _far_ better than to break or, Satan forbid, the polish Aziraphale had applied so carefully to chip.

They dozed a little together, and watched the world waking up in the spring air. A crow landed and regarded them through one beady eye.

“Yesssss?” Crowley hissed, when it looked like he might be a hair too interested in the little cakes that were waiting for Aziraphale to feel peckish.

“Awk,” the crow said, clearly not giving a shit.

Crowley hissed again, this time with a forked tongue.

“My dear! Be nice, it's just a crow,” Aziraphale scolded, giving Crowley's legs an extra little hug.

“Mine,” Crowley hissed.

The crow apparently decided that this was quite enough, thanks, and went  _awk_ again before it took off.

“Wonderful, we've probably been cursed now,” Aziraphale said dryly.

“Pretty sure that's ravens?” Crowley shrugged, and wrapped a white-blonde curl around one fingertip. “Mine,” she said meditatively, not expecting an answer.

“Yours,” Aziraphale agreed, and whatever Crowley was expecting, it wasn't the wave of absolute joy that crashed over her.

“Was that me?” she asked, wide-eyed, as Aziraphale giggled.

“I think it was both of us. But you too.” She pushed herself up, tilting her head back in a charming, tender smile. “I'm yours, love. Always.”

“The shit of it is, I believe you,” Crowley said. She reached down, fingertips just ghosting across Aziraphale's beloved face. “And I'm yours, until the end of everything.” She paused. “ _Will_ things end? For us? I mean, will we ever cease to exist?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “It's ine--”

“Don't you dare say it!” Crowley laughed and pounced, rolling them over and trying to tickle Aziraphale, confounded by the thick canvas trousers and her innate wriggliness that had her squirming out of Crowley's grip.

She got to her feet, laughing in the way that made waves of joy roll through Crowley and she  _knew_ that was only her. Aziraphale's eyes were crinkled at the edges, almost closed and her mouth was open wide, head thrown back. She laughed with her whole body, and it might have struck Crowley just a little dumb, as she stood there and marvelled at Aziraphale's joy – at least until Aziraphale turned tail and ran, leading a merry chase through the garden.

“What are you, the bloody questing beast!?” Crowley gave chase, dodging through the remains of the garden.

“You're far more handsome than Pellinore was,” Aziraphale called over her shoulder.

“Not hard, angel!” Crowley leapt over a small ornamental pond and considered a snake transformation but, well, the point wasn't to win.

Besides, Aziraphale kept turning around and laughing and teasing her onward until the inevitable – she caught her foot on a root and took a tumble.

Crowley paused time, just a little, so she could race ahead and catch her angel in gentle arms, Aziraphale still laughing.

“You bloody great idiot!” Crowley scolded, even as she giggled and lowered Aziraphale to the ground, checking her ankle. “Watch where you're _going_ in this deathtrap of a garden!”

“Why? I've got my own dear love to catch me.” Aziraphale smiled indulgently as Crowley ran her hands over Aziraphale's foot, and healed her twisted ankle. “My darling, I would have walked it off in about four steps.”

“I know. But you don't have to.” They were under a weeping willow, a rather convenient bower, and Crowley rested a hand against Aziraphale's cheek, reaching up and kissing her softly, other hand still on her calf and the smell of green and living things all around them. “I love you.”

“Oh, darling. I love you too.” Aziraphale smiled at her, turned her head and kissed her fingertips. “You've caught me.”

“Pellinore wept, when he caught the questing beast,” Crowley said softly.

“Maybe she didn't love him back.” Aziraphale's smile grew. “Maybe he only loved the chase, and not the finding. Neither of which are problems you have, darling.”

Crowley grinned and snapped her fingers. “There, that's better.” She was wearing layered tunics, rich with embroidery, and brooches on her shoulders. Her hair flowed long and free for the moment, because demons made their  _own_ rules, thank you, and she needn't fit in with proper social mores. “Now I look like a proper Arthurian maiden.”

Aziraphale laughed softly, and snapped her fingers. She wore trews and a padded tunic; a knight without her armour, and a gold circlet on her brow. The soft curve of her body made it clear that she was still a  _she_ , but the knight courted her maiden fair.

“Did Arthur give you that?” Crowley asked, touching the circlet. Up close, she could see fine incised lines, a pretty little diamond pattern.

“He did, when I was made one of his knights.” Aziraphale kissed the back of Crowley's hand. “You are so very beautiful my dear. I have a gift for you – wait here a moment, and I'll get it?”

Crowley blushed. “Aziraphale! You don't have to give me gifts...”

“I know, sweetheart. But I like to.” Aziraphale smiled and rose, heading for the house. 

Crowley often felt a bit odd in her tummy when Aziraphale gave her things, or did things for her too obviously, so she concentrated on watching her walk away. First, because that was always a delicious sight, and second to check her gait – but, no, any slight bump or strain had been well-miracled away, and Aziraphale walked with...well, grace implied an ease that she'd never quite had. She walked straight, perfect posture, and with no sign of discomfort, and Crowley would take it.

She figured that getting to their bedroom and back would take some time, and so settled back against the willow tree's trunk, a handy little seat right there in the roots. 

All right, perhaps she posed a  _little_ , but you couldn't blame a demon for trying.

Crowley knew she was beautiful, and she knew the dark rusts and dull greens she wore flattered her. She knew her hair shone in copper curls, and she knew Aziraphale loved her even when she was a snake, loved her scaly feet and her yellow eyes and every inch of her from tip to tail, so to speak. She also knew she'd probably never stop trying to catch her sweetheart's eye, to make Aziraphale's face do the thing it did when she beheld something that was too big for one poor heart to handle.

Crowley arranged her skirts to flow over the roots, and smiled to herself. She ought to have two hearts, if the world was fair. The only way to hold all of her feelings.

“Oh, you vain thing.” Aziraphale had returned, and knelt by her. “My dear lady.”

“You love it,” Crowley said.  
“I do,” Aziraphale agreed, and kissed her. “You ought to be vain. You're lovely enough for it. Now here – I was going to give you this, oh, I don't know. When we repainted the bedroom or on Midsummer's Day or something, but it doesn't matter.” She laughed and ducked her head. “It – well, it matches your clothes beautifully, so you ought to have it now.”

She opened a flat velvet box to reveal a full set of matched jewellery – two bracelets, a pair of earrings, a necklace, and a fillet for Crowley's hair. They were all of the same make; beautiful enamelled green leaves joined in chains, with tiny, perfect red berries or, wait, no – 

“Apples! They're apples, aren't they?” Crowley touched the necklace with a gentle forefinger. “Oh, angel.”

“They're apples, dear,” Aziraphale confirmed. “I thought they would be a nice reminder of how we met.”

“Yes, because I'm ever likely to forget,” Crowley said. The set was _beautiful_ , and perfectly her. She must have shown, a little, how stunned she was, because it was Aziraphale's clever fingers that fixed the fillet in her hair and fastened the little catches on the necklace and bracelets and, finally, with infinite tenderness, slid the earrings into the little holes in her earlobes.

“Does it all work on me?” Crowley asked, not sure she was quite worthy of this particular beauty. She was comfortable with flash, with expensive, with jewellery that told a very _specific_ story about her. This, though, was her soul on display.

“Oh, love.” They had, perhaps, been playing a little at being knight and maiden, but in this moment Aziraphale was purely herself. “You look so beautiful. They're perfect. You're perfect.” She laughed, and kissed Crowley, and stroked her hair. “Am I fussing too much?”

Crowley shook her head. “Close,” she admitted. “But not too much.”

“Good.” Another soft kiss. “You'll have to look in the mirror later.” Her grin turned a little wicked, or, rather, what Aziraphale thought passed for wicked. (Her _actual_ hungry, wicked grins came far more naturally, of course.) “Until then, I believe I've caught the lady.”

Crowley gave her a dry look. “Light of my life, I  _literally caught you_ .”

Aziraphale waved this away. “Details. The story's the important part, and I'm a knight and you're a lady.” She laid her hand atop Crowley's. “Though, perhaps, it's fair to say we caught each other?”

“Oh yes,” Crowley said, smile growing as she planned their next great adventure, the lady and the knight. She'd climb a tree, and make Aziraphale tempt her down, she decided. “I think that's quite fair.” A kiss, fleeting as a shooting star, and she was up and running again, bare feet pounding through the early spring grass, headed for the great oak tree.


	8. Chapter 8

Crowley burst through the doors of the bookshop, not even wincing at the heat from the flames. “Aziraphale! For God's sake, not again!”

But again, and worse this time; the flames licking at the precious books, the ones Aziraphale loved and hoarded like a dragon, and the ones Crowley loved, because Aziraphale loved them. (And, all right, a few she loved for their stories.)

“You bloody idiot! I told you no more candles!” She bit down the panic, running through the main part of the shop to the back room. Maybe Aziraphale was out. It wasn't like last time; Crowley could feel her. She wasn't gone, wasn't discorporated and flung up to heaven, poor love it had hurt her so much. She was still on Earth.

“Aziraphale!” A scream, a sound of mourning, because it was so, so much worse this time. Her body lay crumpled by the sofa, fallen and still.

“No, no, no, no it doesn't end like this, it can't --” Crowley scrabbled at her, rolled her over and okay, it was going to be okay, Aziraphale moaned and opened her eyes.

She was burned, the fire had caught her, but that was okay, Crowley could heal that. It wasn't hellfire, it wouldn't destroy her.

“Angel, you fucking idiot.”

Aziraphale smiled, eyes fluttering shut. “Sorry.”

“You'd better be. I love you. Come on.” Crowley pulled her into her arms and stood, wincing and shielding her soft, too-vulnerable body from the fire. “You owe me.”

Aziraphale made a soft sound, opened her eyes, and died in Crowley's arms.

She  _felt_ her die, felt her soul fly off, even though that wasn't supposed to happen they didn't work that way but it was like the other time now, Aziraphale  _wasn't there_ , and what was there to do but scream, scream and never stop, she was shaking so hard...

“Crowley!”

Crowley's eyes flew open and she choked, and felt something in her throat, felt pain, but this tied her to her body a little more.

She was trembling so hard it took two tries to wrap around Aziraphale, her angel, her everything, right here and alive, warm and breathing in their big bedroom in their insane house in the country, her life, her life was right here in this bed, and she was safe and sound.

Crowley sobbed into Aziraphale's shoulder, arms and legs so tight around her it must have hurt, but she didn't say anything, just held Crowley and stroked her hair and rubbed her back and absorbed all of her shaking and sobbing, the parts of her that were like glass about to shatter. It all went into Aziraphale's body, and Crowley sobbed herself out, the last terrors of the the nightmare not quite gone yet, and so relieved, feeling her angel not only in the world but all around her, her voice soft in Crowley's ear.

Eventually her sobs quieted, and she even stopped shaking. She held onto Aziraphale less tightly, though of course stayed in her arms. (Which was to say, wrapped around her. Just...a little relaxed about it now.)

“My poor love,” Aziraphale murmured. She passed her hand over Crowley's face, drying tears and soothing away red eyes and cheeks. “Can I get you anything? Cup of tea?”

Crowley shook her head.

“Shot of whiskey?”

The got her to giggle, cut off when her throat suddenly hurt, sharply. Without thinking, she touched it, frowning.

“Oh, love, what happened?”

“I don't know,” Crowley whispered. “'s nothing.”

Aziraphale frowned though, and stroked Crowley's throat. Her frown went deeper, and there was suddenly a cool sensation, oh, it was so lovely, and it took the pain away and healed whatever Crowley had done with the screaming and the sobbing.

“Oh, darling. How dreadful.” She kissed the top of Crowley's head and held her a little more firmly. “You were screaming my name, it was awful. I had to shake you so hard to get you to wake up.” Another little kiss. “Did I hurt you?”

Crowley ached head to toe, but she thought it was probably the whole screaming and panicked clutching Aziraphale and...well, all of it, so she shook her head.

“Good. I was so frightened, you wouldn't wake up, and you were so...it was horrible. But of course I don't need to tell you any of that.” Aziraphale smiled at her and hugged her close again. “Just nice things for a little bit, I think.”

“For a long bit, please,” Crowley said, settling so her head rested on Aziraphale's shoulder. She relaxed, or tried to.

“For a very long bit,” Aziraphale agreed. “Do you want to get into the bath, darling? We can hold each other and watch the stars.”

Crowley shook her head. “Maybe later. Don't want to move.”

“All right. Perfectly lovely in bed, too. I do like our bedroom – I'm glad you picked this one, sweetheart. We'll be able to see trees all summer, and there's so many windows, it'll be like sleeping outside.” Aziraphale paused, and thought. “Except comfortable.”

Crowley giggled softly, going just a little easier in her angel's arms. “Important, that.”

“Vital, I'd say. I've slept on rocky ground quite enough in my life thank you,” Aziraphale said.

“In armour. That was the worst,” Crowley offered.

“Oh, Lord yes.” Aziraphale gave a little shiver, and settled back against a pile of pillows. “There, that's better. Yes, of course you can stay wrapped around me, precious. I don't want to let you go either.”

“You died in my arms. In the dream,” Crowley said. “Fire, too.”

“My darling, your subconscious can go fuck itself,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley was so startled by the rare profanity she actually laughed.

“Well, it can.” Aziraphale smiled and touched her hand to her chest. “Feel, love. Beating heart. Just for you.”

Crowley smiled and wriggled down so she could rest her head on Aziraphale's chest, extra-soft in her female corporation. She could hear a steady heartbeat, and smell the lavender Aziraphale scattered among her nightgowns. She let herself her eyes and sigh, just for a moment.

“I'm alive and well,” Azirpahale reminded her softly. “We're safe in a house that's lasted centuries already. And the bookshop's quite safe too, I promise. You've nothing to fear, beloved. There now, yes, don't go back to sleep I think. Terrible memories and all.” She rested a hand on Crowley's head, petting the velvet softness – after their playing at knight and lady, Crowley had cut it off short again, not even half a centimetre grown out, and Aziraphale had taken to rubbing her cheek on it, not unlike a happy cat.

Crowley  _knew_ Aziraphale sometimes forgot about the heartbeat, but to hear it now, knowing she was carefully keeping it steady, just for Crowley – oh, it was enough to make one feel things unbecoming to a demon. Then again, things unbecoming to a demon was kind of Crowley's  _thing_ .

Aziraphale cradled Crowley in her arms, glad that she was still clinging, not unlike a koala it must be said. If Aziraphale could just... _be_ , and be herself strongly enough, the nightmare would be banished. She made herself as soft as possible, going easy against the pillows, tucking Crowley's face into her neck and stroking her hair, following the grain of the short, soft locks. Her poor love – it had been horrific to watch Crowley scream and thrash. To scream  _Aziraphale's name_ , in a voice of heartbreak. It wasn't fair! Crowley had been through so much, and she deserved to be free of all of it; but of course the world didn't work that way.

So Aziraphale cuddled her and kissed her, made little jokes that were pretty terrible but got Crowley giggling. Kissed her eyes, and dried any tears. Made sure her throat was healed, and kept her own heartbeat steady, giving Crowley a rhythm to breathe to, deep and slow. She loved as hard as she could, without actually glowing – that tended to give Crowley a touch of sunburn. Better to be human in her love, as earthy and tender as she could be.

When the sun rose, she made them coffee, and brought a cup to Crowley, still in bed. Aziraphale had wrapped her up in her own dressing-gown, fragrant with her perfume and perhaps a poor substitute for a cuddle, but serving well enough.

“What do you want to do today?” she asked, as they sat shoulder-to-shoulder. Of course they didn't _need_ the coffee to wake up, but it did feel so good to drink deeply and watch colour come into the world, and for the birds to make their racket.

“Finish off my study,” Crowley said firmly. “I just have to arrange things. And it's not as though I'm ill, or injured. I want to be doing.”

“Then doing you will be,” Aziraphale agreed, and kissed her cheek. “Do you want help? I can work on the little reading nook, if you want me near.”

Crowley bit her lip, and thought. “Will you stay in the room with me? I don't need help, you can just bring a book or whatever you like. I. Just.” Her words ran out, but they had stayed long enough to get her point across.

“I would be delighted to,” Aziraphale said, as carefree and easy as she could. Of course she _wanted_ to gather Crowley up and promise to not leave her side until the memory of the nightmare was banished, that it would be her pleasure to stay nearby and help, or not. But that didn't always help; far better to be easy and gentle, and give Crowley room to breathe.

So do immortal beings grow.

Aziraphale did wind up bringing a book and a rather comfy chair with her, settling by a window that was tucked out of the way. It was rather a comfortable way to spend a morning, settled into the world of the novel while demonic magic swirled around her, Crowley placing furniture here and there, selecting a chair and then dismissing it, placing art on this wall and then this one. And, rather regularly, drifting over to Aziraphale, just being near her.

“Hello, my dear.” Aziraphale looked up each time, asking nothing and expecting nothing. Once, Crowley put a hand on her shoulder and she lay her head against it, turned and kissed Crowley's knuckles. But mostly, she was as there and as _Aziraphale_ as she could be.

Which did mean perhaps, getting a little lost in her novel, but could you blame her  _really_ ?

Crowley smiled when Aziraphale utterly failed to notice her for the third time. Good. This felt more real, and a little less like Crowley was someone to be tended to, or that she needed special affection. Maybe she did, maybe a little, but the idea of that made her itchy, and it was nice to pretend that this was any other day, and Aziraphale was just...there. They were practically joined at the hip as it was, so it wasn't  _that_ unusual.

She played around with furniture, finally settling on how things were arranged, desk and throne and bits of art, and plenty of room for plants. Somehow, in this warm, wood-paneled room, her belongings fit. Nothing  _echoed_ here, she decided, as she hung Leonardo's drawing on the wall and admired the effect. 

Oh, there was one thing she needed Aziraphale for.

“Angel?”

“Hmm?” It had taken Aziraphale a few seconds to come back to herself, but she looked up, blinking, and smiled at Crowley. “Yes, love?”

“Do you mind terribly if I keep the lectern here?” Crowley ducked her head. “I...like having it this close.”

Aziraphale's smile grew. “My darling. Of course not.” She held out her hand, and Crowley took it, squeezing her fingers lightly. “It's wonderful in here. Do you like it? We can always trade rooms around if you want something bigger.”

Crowley shook her head. “I love it,” she confessed, and smiled when Aziraphale put her book aside and pulled Crowley into her lap. In deference to a day spent mostly in leisure, she was wearing a simple cotton day-dress, as comfortable and soft and worn as anything else she owned, and it was a truly delicious experience for Crowley to slip her arms around Aziraphale's waist and rest her head on her angel's shoulder. “It feels warm in here,” she added, trying to explain. “Like everything fits. It won't be too dark in summer, and it'll be so cozy in winter.”

“Quite right,” Aziraphale agreed.

“I'd like to keep your chair here,” Crowley said softly. “I mean, keep everything the way it is, right now. Is that all right?”

“My darling, I would love nothing better.” Aziraphale petted her hip, smiling at the feel of Crowley's velvet leggings. And Crowley in general, really. “You'll have to pick a spot in my library too, you know.”

“A loveseat. Like the one in the bookshop,” Crowley said immediately. “I can stretch out on it, or we'll both fit. Please?”

“That's perfect, and you know it.” Aziraphale smiled and snuggled Crowley close, their foreheads touching, noses bumping. Not quite kissing, but close enough to share breath. “I do love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you too, angel.” Crowley cupped her hands around Aziraphale's face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. She ought to thank Aziraphale for – well, everything. But especially that day, the love, the quiet, patient being there. Of course, stupid demon that she was, words stuck in her throat. So she tried to just...love extra. Be so in love that Aziraphale couldn't ever miss it.

Did the angel sigh with pleasure? Just a small sound, but Crowley thought that might be it, so she settled a little more solidly, and loved with all her heart, so Aziraphale would know.

The day turned chilly and blustery, one last reminder from winter, and Aziraphale took one look at Crowley and decided an afternoon lightly basting in hot water was precisely what her poor snake needed. Crowley had generally been the one to handle their palatial bathing set-up, but today Aziraphale took over, settling Crowley in a warm dressing-gown to wait while she heated the water to steaming and threw in handfuls of salts and herbs, all bright citrus and juniper to give them a little sunlight, in memory if not in fact. They had started buying small houseplants, inevitably, and they ringed the bath, giving a welcome bit of life to the conservatory. And they hardly trembled at all.

“Into that with you, then,” Aziraphale said briskly, once they'd both sluiced off a bit, giggling and wiping each other down in the rain shower. “Get heat back into your bones, and I'll go over you with oil and a strigil, like the old days.”

“Oooh, matron!” Crowley teased, and the look she got was worth it. And, for all her bluster and practicality, Aziraphale's hips wiggled deliciously as she bustled around and took care of things, all done delightfully in the nude. The angel was particularly gentle when she helped Crowley into the small pool, and settled her where she could rest properly, even popping a little terrycloth pillow under her neck.

“There,” she said, with great satisfaction. One hand rested on Crowley's chest, a warning if she even thought about sitting up or lifting a finger for herself. There were plants with little trailing vines all about, and Crowley breathed in deep, sharp-scented steam, ensuring she stayed firmly in her body, and in the moment.

“I'm fine, angel,” Crowley said, because, well, she _had_ to. It was her pleasure and her most beloved duty to console and comfort and protect her angel, who'd had no one to protect her for so long.

“Very glad to hear it.” Aziraphale kissed her brow. “We are in a _relationship_ , my love. Everything goes both ways. Now close your eyes, and pick out what music you want on.”

Crowley blushed, but the heat of the bath hid it, and did as she was told. Bless both miracles and Bluetooth speakers – and that playlist of love songs she'd put together while blind drunk once. Aziraphale never listened to sung lyrics, so Crowley's heart would be quite safe and...well, not un-exposed, but certainly a touch more hidden than it could have been.

Aziraphale settled close by, one hand slowly stroking Crowley's hair, petting the short, soft strands.

“You like the buzzcut?” Crowley murmured, when she'd been quiet for a bit.

“I love anything you do with your body,” Aziraphale assured her. “But yes I quite like this, specifically. Your hair is so _soft_ , love. And you're so beautiful.” 

Crowley reached up and ran a hand where Aziraphale had been petting, and deemed it acceptable.

“See? I know what I'm about.” Aziraphale said smugly. More soft pets and the heat of the water and the sweet music, and it was like something was uncoiling inside of Crowley, easing her far, far away from her nightmare. She refused to sleep that night, but perhaps tomorrow night. And, anyway, she didn't _need_ sleep. And not sleeping meant quiet hours with Aziraphale. Maybe, if she was in the mood, she'd read aloud to Crowley.

Crowley took a deep breath, and tried to ask. “Angel? You. Um. We haven't read anything together in awhile.”

“We haven't, love.”

Another deep breath. “Willyoureadtometonight?” Why was she so bad at this?

“I would love to, dearest.” Aziraphale didn't even miss the rhythm of stroking Crowley's hair, just kept up the steady touches, like the request wasn't a favour Crowley was asking. Like it was...no, Aziraphale was never dismissive over such things. _Easy_ wasn't the same thing as _unimportant_ at all.

With this to chew over, Crowley fell silent again, a little lost in her own thoughts until she heard Aziraphale.

_Singing_ .

_To Elton John._

Maybe  _this_ was the herald to the end of the world.

“I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind--”

Crowley's eyes flew open.

“That I put down in words,”

Crowley was going to discorporate.

“How wonderful life is when you're in the world.”

Aziraphale didn't do anything differently, she wasn't singing  _to_ Crowley, minus that part where she was very much singing to Crowley, but that was.

Okay. Crowley was okay. She was breathing, even, and she was firm in her body, here in a lovely hot bath, and her girlfriend, her angel, the other half of her, was holding her down, giving her pressure to centre around, and  _singing love songs to her_ .

“Oh, darling,” Aziraphale said when she saw Crowley's face, and gathered her into a hug. “My dearest.” She smiled, and kissed Crowley's cheek. “My dear boy.”

Crowley laughed and sobbed a little at the old nickname.

“You poor thing. Someone should have been telling you that for centuries. Millennia.” Aziraphale stroked her hair, the two of them somehow tumbled onto a ledge, holding one another. 

Crowley shrugged, but also didn't turn into a snake, and thus was quietly rather proud of herself. Then again, snakes didn't get hugs – not like this.

Aziraphale held her easily, and the warm salt water held them both as the songs changed, and Crowley settled again in herself, deeper and more secure than before, feeling deliciously, wonderfully loved.

“When did _you_ learn to sing along to modern music?” she finally asked, stroking the soft skin of Aziraphale's chest, still firmly snuggled into place. Obviously.

“I honestly cannot imagine why you're surprised, as often as you play the same songs over and over and _over_ again,” Aziraphale pointed out, not a little prissily.

“You call bicycles _velocipedes_.”

“It's a fun word to say,” Aziraphale said, still rather primly. There was a distinct sparkle in her eye when she smiled, though. “The words to that song are quite clear, you know, not like so much else of what you listen to.”

“What!”

Aziraphale's eyes were like stars. She  _must_ do that on purpose, Crowley decided. 

“You know it's true,” she said, and found Crowley's mouth with a soft kiss. “It's true,” she murmured. “It's so wonderful, that you're in this world.” Her smile grew. “I've only had seven days on Earth, without knowing you.”

Crowley swallowed hard. “And I was there. We just. Didn't know each other.” A great white wing, bright even in the sudden cloudy gloom. She had stepped to the side without thinking, nervous. What if it rained holy water?

But of course it didn't, and anyway, a flash of white and Aziraphale was sheltering her from the storm while she looked up and let her Creator's rain bathe her face while she laughed. That had been the start of the world, really. Adam and Eve finding wisdom, and an angel sheltering a demon from the rain, after giving her sword away because it was the right – or, perhaps, the wrong – thing to do.

Aziraphale kissed her again, slow and sweet, while a slow and sweet song played, and they held one another and tried to remember a time when they didn't know the other existed, and failed entirely.

Aziraphale was dressing for bed when Crowley's phone went off with a chain of texts.

**Annie:** Hi guys. Aelis is making me text you. I'm okay. I really am, I promise, don't listen to her. It's nothing I haven't dealt with before, anyway.

**Annie:** You don't need to call, she's with me.

**Annie:** I miss you both.

**Annie:** I love you.

**Aelis** : We're having a rough night. I've got her, though, I promise. Tell Aziraphale I love her for bringing me Annie. She's got a knack, doesn't she?

“Angel, got any plans for tomorrow?” Crowley called.

Aziraphale came out from behind her screen, still wriggling a little as her nightgown settled. “No real plans, though really, we ought to do something about the walls in here. Why?”

“We're going to London,” Crowley said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is fine, I promise!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for frank discussion of suicidal thoughts from an OFC.
> 
> Massive massive thanks to [drasnianfrank](https://drasnianfrank.tumblr.com/) for giving this chapter a disability sensitivity read and being generally excellently helpful! Any errors or problems that remain are, of course, my own.

Aziraphale was at her side in moments, scanning the texts. She bit her lip and hid her face in Crowley's shoulder for a moment.

Crowley was still, feeling the miracle working. “Okay?” she asked softly, when Aziraphale relaxed.

“It'll hold,” Aziraphale said, her eyes dark and troubled.

“She'll hold,” Crowley said, and kissed Aziraphale's cheek. “Want to call her? Or Aelis?”

Aziraphale shook her head slowly. “No. No, they have each other. Tell them I love them. That we love them. And we'll be in London tomorrow. Just for them, I think – we can stay an extra day for anyone else who needs me.”

Crowley nodded, and texted them both back, adding a few more reassurances. That they trusted the two of them, and were thinking of them. And when the Principality of the Eastern Gate thought of you, you were  _ thought of _ . Annie would be safe as houses, now.

Aziraphale had eased a little when they crawled beneath the covers, neither of them planning to sleep but wanting the warmth of the velvet duvet, and the comfort of each other.

“She's all right,” she reported. “Like she said. Oh, Crowley.” She giggled. “It's early days, but they're so in love already. It's so sweet.”

“Good. Aelis needs someone who's a match for her,” Crowley said firmly. “And they both need love.”

“Oh, they're getting it,” Aziraphale said, eyes sparkling again. “Lucky ducks, to be at the beginning again. Not that there's not a lot to be said for the bits after,” she added, snuggling Crowley against her side. “Now, what do you want to read tonight, love? Anything you like, your pick.”

Crowley smiled and rested her head on Aziraphale's chest. What a lucky demon she was, impossibly lucky.

She trusted Aziraphale, and Aelis, but also left her phone's volume up, as Aziraphale settled in to read aloud all through the sweet, secret night hours. They'd set off before dawn, most likely, if only to beat the traffic.

They left earlier than that, even, after the third time Aziraphale dropped the thread of where she was reading, distracted by her thoughts. And it wasn't as though Crowley was tired, and she quite liked a night drive, so they dressed and piled into the Bentley and set off for London, Aziraphale holding Crowley's phone so she could see any texts coming in.

Crowley even mostly obeyed the speed limit and drove broadly normally, so Aziraphale wouldn't have to be distracted. Of course her charges –  _ their _ charges, really, plural they – were all right. Aziraphale had laid her blessing on them both, and Aelis had promised they were handling it. But still. One did worry.

It wasn't yet dawn when they pulled up outside the bookshop, but that magical time in the morning when it was still dark and the world was moving, preparing for the day. Crowley didn't even stop in at the shop, just saw Aziraphale to the front door, kissed her, and hared off to the bakery she knew opened early to stock up on victuals.

She returned victorious, with almond croissants still warm from the oven and coffee for them both, hot and fresh and full of cream and sugar. Crowley hoped it would be a good day, full of reassurances and watching their charges be in love, but she knew that it might, just as easily, be a hard day for Aziraphale. So coffee, and pastries, and dinner at a lovely little hole-in-the-wall Ethiopian place – or in bed, if that was needed.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale picked at her croissant for a moment, and Crowley's nerves did a thing. She relaxed a little when Aziraphale took a bite, then continued her question. Not so bad as to put her angel off her feed, at least. “Are we doing the right thing? Moving out of London?”

“Yes,” Crowley said immediately. “It makes you happy, right? Our home?”

Aziraphale couldn't stop a smile. “Of course it does, darling. I love every inch of that ugly old thing.”

Crowley smiled and winked. “No, I didn't ask what you thought of me, dearest --”

Aziraphale threw a bit of croissant at her, and bonked Crowley right in her sunglasses. “Don't you  _dare_ , you old serpent. There will be no fishing for compliments today, I can't handle it.” She leaned across the small table and kissed the corner of Crowley's mouth. “I love every inch of you too, you beautiful creature.”

“See, now you're just encouraging me.” Crowley took Aziraphale's hand in hers, though, turning it so she could hold her lady-love's fingers, touch the gold signet ring Aziraphale still wore. “Going back to the original topic. Zira, you're allowed to be happy. To have something just _because_ it makes you happy.”

Aziraphale chewed her lip. “I won't abandon my darlings here, though. I refuse to.”

“And you don't need to,” Crowley pointed out. “Look how fast we were back, and that was with human transportation.” She squeezed Aziraphale's hand. “What if it wasn't all right? What if someone called, or texted, or you just _knew_ , and they were in hospital or something, and needed you right away?”

“Right. Miracle,” Aziraphale admitted. 

“'Course you would. Love, you can have both things. You can take care of our babies, and we can rehab the weirdest house ever built and live there together, enjoy village life and all of that.” Crowley smiled. “You win, angel.”

“I certainly did,” Aziraphale said, kissing the back of Crowley's hand. “Quite right.” She smiled shyly. “You win too, you know.”

“Well, _obviously_ ,” Crowley said. “Got you, don't I?” She grinned at the look this earned her. “Eat up, love. It's almost late enough that we can yell at them to come visit us.

In the end, they waited until an extremely decent hour, aided by Crowley getting some texts from Ezra, who had not so much come out of the closet as obliterated the notion of a closet. They had known one of Ezra's mums when she was young and half-lost in London, all giant Doc Martens and a lot of eye makeup. Aziraphale, of course, knew their other mother in the way that he knew all queer people, though they hadn't proeperly met until after Ezra was born. And now Ezra was at uni, still as anarchic as they'd been when they were an infant who had spit up a frankly impressive volume of milk all down the demon Crowley's shirt. It had been love at first sight.

Ezra caught them up on some gossip among the Londoners who had moved out to the leafy suburbs and/or wherever they could find some kind of sane rent, and Aziraphale had made them promise to visit on the morrow with the lure that had worked for students since the invention of the university – they would take Ezra out to lunch.

The good news cheered Aziraphale to no end, and Crowley could love Ezra for that alone, watching her angel smile and giggle as the texts came in. For someone who refused to carry a mobile, she was a shockingly fast texter, fingers flying over the little keyboard while Crowley snuggled up and peered over her shoulder, adding colour commentary as required.

They texted Aelis first, and had a reply in seconds – everyone was all right, and Annie was feeling better, and yes they would absolutely like to stop by the bookshop. Soon. Very soon.

“What's the matter?” Crowley asked softly, and Aziraphale frowned thoughtfully.

“Nothing bad,” she said slowly. “Nothing like – not what you're thinking of. But I think they need to talk. Someplace safe.” She tilted her head to one side. “I think we can help them.”

“I'll put the kettle on and get a pot of coffee started,” Crowley decided. She was better off _doing_ , while Aziraphale held court and did her angelic duties.

(But what a terrible word – 'duty' implied that Aziraphale  _had_ to do what she did, but of course it was her joy. Even the hard, terrible, sad parts were not an obligation, but a privilege. Crowley had helped her ease her beloveds out of the world, and into it, and seen what a miracle every moment was.)

“Thank you, love.” Aziraphale stood and stretched, and hugged Crowley, and bustled about preparing. Blankets were always good to have on hand, and clean hankies, and other soft, useful things.

The door to the shop opened not so very much later, and Aziraphale went to greet them, her warm, low voice carrying through the shop. Crowley couldn't hear what she was saying, but she felt a sudden, breathtaking, stab of love. Her angel was the best of the lot of them. None of those ice-creatures would ever greet humans with such affection and understanding, not a one.

Crowley smiled into the coffee she was brewing, because Annie was alive, they still had her lovely self in the world, and she was in love, and because of Aziraphale, Crowley knew these things, and these people. Lucky demon.

“Oh good, you've come to drink up all my coffee again,” she greeted them, bringing the tray to the small table ringed by deep, comfy chairs and sofas. 

Annie laughed at the admittedly not-great joke, and oh good. She looked tired, with dark hollows under her eyes, but she was also a little cross-eyed and dazed, probably because Aziraphale had an arm around her and was ushering her to the little loveseat that Crowley usually occupied, but which would fit two human women just fine. If she could still be dumbstruck by Aziraphale's glorious soft butch existence, everything was going to be all right.

(Today's outfit, God help them all, was tailored trousers, caramel-coloured brogues, a gold velvet waistcoat that was tailored to show off her waist, and a very snazzy cravat. If Crowley looked too much at her, she got a little dumbstruck herself.)

Aelis was just behind them and oh, there, that might be a thing to talk about. She must be having a bad day – on crutches, and leaning heavily on them, her steps a little hesitant. She plunked down next to Annie, stowed her crutches under the loveseat, and more or less immediately got a cup of coffee in her hands,  _gratis_ Crowley, who knew their girl well.

“Oh, bless you,” she groaned after the first sip. “You're a life-saver, you are.”

Annie smiled fondly at Aelis, and kissed her cheek. “I told you, we could've stopped into Costa or something.”

“Nah, this is better. Crowley, you are an artist. A magician. Also you don't burn the shit out of your beans.”

Crowley bowed to the compliment while Aziraphale handed Annie a mug of coffee for herself.

“All right, my dear?” she asked gently, a hand on Annie's back. “There's a blanket there if you get chilly.”

Annie just smiled and snuggled up to Aelis. “I'm fine. Aziraphale, I  _promise_ . My brain is being dumb, but I'm...not listening to it, you know?”

“Good girl,” Aziraphale praised, settling and taking a cup of tea for herself. “Bad day, Aelis?”

She made a face, her round features settling into a little moue. “Not great.” She sighed and sipped her coffee. “Is it really a bad day if more and more are like this?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said softly. “I beg your pardon. I hadn't realized--”

Aelis shook her head. “No, no, that wasn't what I meant, don't apologise.” She smiled a little, and huh. Crowley rememered right – she  _did_ look like Aziraphale. Curvy and chubby and lovely, with pale hair and eyes. Aelis' smile didn't quite have Aziraphale's pout to it, but to be fair, that pleading look had taken centuries to perfect.

Annie kissed Aelis' shoulder. “Hey,” she said softly. “New normal, yeah?”

“New normal,” Aelis sighed, and turned to her, kissing her brow. “This is about you, sweetheart.”

“Bollocks,” Annie said. “Aziraphale's got time and patience, and Crowley's got a store of coffee to keep us going forever no matter what she says when she's pretending to be grumpy. This is about _us_.”

Aziraphale simply sipped her tea, so Crowley kept quiet as well (after she yelped at that _pretending,_ for she was a very grumpy mean snake who didn't love anything _everyone_ knew _that_ ). She stayed leaning in the doorway, half-hidden. Crowley always felt...not superflous, when Aziraphale got into full Principality mode, but definitely that her best contribution was to keep everyone supplied with hot drinks and cake.

“What is there to discuss? You know this won't get better. It's going to get worse,” Aelis said, gesturing at herself. 

“I know,” Annie said. “But – look. I don't _know_ -know. I don't know exactly what it's going to mean for you, or for me. How it will affect me. But baby.” Her voice grew thick. “I really want to be around to learn.”

“Annie...” Aelis sounded lost for a moment, then wrapped her arms around Annie, holding her tight. “It's gonna suck sometimes.”

“Uh huh. Look, I know it's not exactly the same, but my _brain_ sucks sometimes too.” Annie pressed her face into Aelis's shoulder. “I'm scared I won't always be able to be there for you.”

“Yeah.” Aelis cleared her throat. “Yeah, same at you, love.” She stroked Annie's hair. “I wish you didn't have to worry over me.”

“She'd worry over you no matter what,” Aziraphale said gently. “That's love, dearheart.”

Aelis smiled at her and cuddled Annie closer. “I know. But this feels like...I didn't sign up for this, y'know? But everyone else can. Or not.”

“Can we?” Aziraphale asked thoughtfully, when Annie made a noise. “We love you, darling. _I_ love you, you're one of my own. That means loving all of you.”

Crowley was uncomfortably aware of where  _that_ wisdom had come from, and it wasn't just the way her hips sometimes didn't work, and they had to take a little time off and do something quiet together until she could walk sensibly again.

“Like I'm a package deal?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Same as Annie is. You didn't sign up for her mental health troubles.”

Aelis's whole body contracted, her arms going tight around Annie, and Crowley didn't envy anyone foolish enough to try and put them asunder. “I fucking well did! I signed up for  _her_ and all right, you needn't  _gloat_ you know.”

“Who's gloating?” Aziraphale's smile broadened. 

“Sorry, gloating is what she _does_ ,” Crowley contributed at the same time. “You don't get used to it, by the way.”

“I'll have trouble getting around in here, when I'm in a chair,” Aelis challenged.

“Then I'll rearrange the furniture. I know you all think this place hasn't changed in centuries, but I _can_ make adjustments.” Aziraphale's voice was sweet and even, and Crowley remembered when things had been changed around before – to make a community pantry during the AIDS crisis, or everything cleared off the floor to make pallets for those sheltering from the Blitz. Hell, they'd shifted things around that time Aziraphale had tried to teach her the gavotte. “You might have to help me a little, dear girl, but you'll never not be welcome and comfortable here. I promise you.”

“See?” Annie said, deep within Aelis' soft embrace. “Choosing. She's choosing you. So'm I. Like you're choosing me – all've me.”

Aelis sighed. “I still think it'll be hard for you,” she said.

“So's lots of things.” Annie wriggled free for a moment. “Love. _My_ love. My brain tried to tell me last night that the world would be a vastly better place without me in it. It really, really tried to make that a reality. Oh, no, don't cry.” She wiped away a tear that threatened to fall, and Crowley crossed the room to tend to her own love, resting a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder and squeezing. “But it didn't work. If I can persist through that, do you really think I can't persist through whatever your disability throws at us?”

Aelis laughed and wiped her eyes, and kissed Annie. “Point.”

Aziraphale discreetly wiped her cheeks, and reached up to rest her hand on Crowley's, squeezing her fingers lightly. “Annie, you're incredibly strong,” she said. “I'm so sorry, for what it is that gives you that strength. But you've got it.” She turned and smiled at Aelis. “And you've got a similar strength.” She looked up at Crowley. “So do you, my love,” she said softly.

“And you. Fuck, I wish you'd never had to learn to be strong,” Crowley said, cupping Aziraphale's cheek in one hand. “But here we are.” She smiled. “Complementing one another. You're strong where I'm weak.” Aziraphale, who had picked up her sword and got Crowley to keep fighting when the world was ending. Her _clever_ angel, her angel who was not fearless, but only from knowing how many things in the world there were to fear. 

“And vice-versa,” Aziraphale said firmly, and turned back to her charges. “That's the trick of it – one of them, anyway. 

“Be really cute together?” Aelis offered, and grinned when Annie giggled – and grinned wider, when Aziraphale threw her head back and laughed.

“It helps,” Crowley said dryly, and winked at her. 

“Well that's sorted at least,” Aelis said, squeezing Annie adorably. “Hey you. I love you.” She kissed her girlfriend, who threw her arms around Aelis' neck and hugged her.

“I love you too,” she said. “We can do this. Make it all work, I mean. I want...I want to try, anyway.”

“Oh, sweetheart. Yeah. We'll work at it.” Aelis sighed and pressed a long kiss to Annie's hair. “I'm so scared, sometimes.”

“Me too. But I'll be brave for you.”

Aziraphale made a small noise, and Crowley all but shoved her over, somehow fitting them both in the big easy chair, cuddling her sweetheart close and stroking her hair. Aziraphale might have care of all the queer people in Soho – if not the world – but Crowley had care of  _her_ .

“I'm all right,” Aziraphale murmured to her, but she also very definitely leaned into Crowley's arms, and closed her eyes for a moment. Crowley knew that she believed herself rather selfish, and well, she was in a lot of ways. But taking comfort and love was _very definitely_ something to be selfish about, Crowley thought.

(Also, literally everything else she adored and hoarded, although Crowley didn't like to say that bit aloud about the books. They had books coming out of their ears as it was.)

Tears were dried that needed it, and Aelis smiled when she saw Crowley and Aziraphale crammed together. “Oh, no, have we taken your spot?”

“Absolutely not,” Aziraphale said.

“Technically it's my spot,” Crowley said, and made a face when everyone else in the room laughed at her. “Don't even think of getting up, young lady, the two of you are quite fine there.”

“And you're quite fine _there_ ,” Annie pointed out, and they shared a look of desperate understanding, as Crowley was pretty well in Aziraphale's lap and an actual explosion probably wouldn't budge her. Annie in turn was cuddled against Aelis's side, one hand protectively on her soft belly and head on her expansive bosom, and _extremely_ contented with that.

The hardest conversation had drawn to a close, and Aziraphale was content that her children were on a path to understanding. There would have to be more conversations; and there would be more tears and bad days and bad nights, but they were on their way. They had the tools, if nothing else.

Crowley teased and flirted with everyone in turn, safe in Aziraphale's lap and on steadier ground; no longer the demon who loved the angel who protected the queer children of Soho, but someone with friends who teased back. Aelis even flirted with her a little, playfully, and Crowley had an idea of what Annie felt when Aziraphale so much as looked at her. It wasn't that she was attracted to Aelis – she didn't really  _get_ attracted to humans – but goodness. That much...curve...and cheek and brightness pointed at one did rather have an effect.

“How's the house coming along?” Annie asked. “Crowley sent me pictures.” She did not mention that they were mostly pictures of Aziraphale being extremely butch, because sometimes Crowley needed to share the pain.

Aziraphale shrugged. “Oh, well enough. We're done a few rooms, and we're going to tackle that awful blue in our bedroom next, but I think I'm quite good at plastering by now, so it should go quickly enough.

Crowley, wisely, kept her mouth shut. The roof wouldn't fall in on them; everything else, no matter how...interestingly...done, was decoration.

(Besides, she wasn't any better, although she was one hundred percent willing to blame that on working next to Aziraphale with her rough woollen trousers and collarless shirts and her flexing and, as it got warmer, her sleeveless undershirts or occasionally her no shirts.)

Annie smiled, and also kept her mouth shut in re: skill at plastering. “Oh, lovely. Oh, gosh - are we keeping you from work?”

“Absolutely not,” Aziraphale and Crowley said together, perhaps a _bit_ more strongly than either meant.

“You're more important,” Aziraphale said. “Both of you. I promised you all that I wouldn't abandon London – or any of you – when we took the house.” She shook her head. “I _can't_. And I'd never want to, loves. You're mine, and I'm yours. Oh, no, don't cry, please.”

Aelis wiped her eyes. “Shut up! I will too cry, when you're so lovely to us.” She laughed, and laughed harder when Aziraphale and Crowley both came over to hug her and pet her hair, and Crowley freshened up her coffee, and Annie stayed like a limpet through it all.

Aziraphale knelt before her, smiling up at them both, and took their hands in hers. “I need you both to understand – I will  _always_ be here. Never more than a phone call away. I promise you.”

“I believe you,” Annie assured her.

“Good girl.” A little pat to her knee, and Aziraphale rose and retook her usual spot.

They visited a little longer, talking over the house, and London, and easier things. Crowley kept everyone in tea and coffee and little sandwiches and things until the girls really did have to leave.

There were hugs at the door, Aelis pouting a bit that her crutches kept her from hugging properly until Annie took temporary hold of them, and Aziraphale and Crowley gathered her between them in a long embrace, with promises of love, and checking in on them, and don't think you've heard the last of us, missy.

So it was that Aelis and Annie were both laughing when she reclaimed her crutches and ability to do anything other than be held and loved, and they headed out into the street.

Aziraphale let out a breath as she locked the door behind them. “Oh, thank goodness. That went about as well as could be hoped for.”

“'Course it did, angel, they had you,” Crowley pointed out, ushering her back to the sofa, a fresh cup of tea miraculously waiting for her. “All right then? Do you want to go lie down?”

Aziraphale laughed and slipped an arm around her waist. “I'm  _fine_ you old snake. Anyone ever tell you that you worry too much?”

“Nope. Never.” Crowley saw her settled, and snuggled up beside her of course. “'Cause I don't. Neat how that works out.”

Aziraphale rolled her eyes and elbowed her a little. “Cheeky.” She drank deeply from her tea, but truly didn't seem tired; well enough. There had been more listening and talking than miracle-doing, and it rarely exhausted Aziraphale to fulfill her true role.

“Cut a little close to home, mind,” Crowley finally said.

“Mmm. Yes, I noticed that too.” Aziraphale rested her head on Crowley's shoulder for a moment. “In more ways than one.”

“Oh?”

“I've learned so much from you,” Aziraphale explained. “You know that. Loving you has taught me so very much – about you, about me, about the world.”

“Oh, angel.” Crowley pressed a long kiss to the top of her fluffy head. “You. I. Erk.”

“Erk about covers it,” Aziraphale agreed. “But also – I was thinking.” She rested a hand on Crowley's thigh. “It's – well. Watching Aelis. She moves a little like you. And you know I never mind when we have to take a few hours off for your hips to behave, or when it's easier for you to take your snake form, but for the times when you _do_ want to do something, have you ever thought about, well, using crutches? Like she does?”

Crowley tilted her head to one side. “Huh. It  _was_ quite nice when walking sticks were in fashion, you know.”

“Yes, darling. You always did like carrying one.” Aziraphale smiled. “Do you still have that one with the silver snake-head?”

Crowley shrugged. “Technically? That was one of the miracled bits. Hmm.” She thought for a bit, but of course it made perfect sense. It was all well and good to lie abed and get cuddles and tell stories with Aziraphale, but there were times that Crowley's body did get in the way a bit. Rare, but they had postponed dinners, or little rambles, and once a picnic. The picnic had hurt. “You know, I think I'll give it a go next time. If there's something I want to do, I mean.” She smiled. “Silly of me not to think of it before.”

“Very silly,” Aziraphale said, getting her arms more firmly around her love. “You deserve to not miss out, you know.”

“Oh, hush you.” Crowley pulled off her dark glasses, now that they were alone, and kissed Aziraphale for a very long time, just to show her what Crowley thought of her and her clever ways.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting schedules are for other writers we die like men.
> 
> CW: intimation of major character injury at the end of the chapter.

Aziraphale truly didn't seem to suffer any from tending to her children; a cup of tea and she was up and bustling around, rooting through some shelves to find a book she had thought about re-reading soon, and it was so easy to bring it back with them. Books found and set aside, she took herself off to the British Museum while Crowley opted to check on her flat, on the way to some shopping in Knightsbridge she was carefully vague about.

They met again for dinner, of course, and lingered as late as they dared, laughing and teasing one another and telling stories, and finally walking home with arms around each others' waists.

Aziraphale let them into the shop, and Crowley went to go make a final cup of tea, just to see them to bed.

“Oh,” she tossed over one shoulder. “Can you use they/them for me, please?”

“Of course, darling,” Aziraphale assured them, coming over to kiss Crowley's cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you too, angel,” Crowley said, turning so they could peck Aziraphale's lips. “Sorry. Does this get annoying?”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale was looking through some mail. “What, you making tea? Of course not.”

“No, I know _that_.” Crowley pulled out the nicest teacups Aziraphale had, some Majolica that was probably priceless, but mostly awfully pretty. “Changing pronouns. Gender. All of that.”

There was a long silence, and they looked up and over their shoulder. Surely Aziraphale wouldn't be angry over that? Maybe they shouldn't have asked. Pronouns weren't that important.

“No,” Aziraphale said clearly. “I will never be annoyed by that, Crowley. Ever. You can ask me anytime you need to, and I will reassure you, you can change your gender seventeen times a day, and I will never be annoyed. Am I quite clear?”

Crowley ducked their head, and added water to the teapot. “Yeah,” they said. “Clear. Thanks.”

“You're quite welcome. You may ask me again at any time, and get the same answer.” Aziraphale came over and kissed their shoulder, the pointy bit where the bones lay just under their skin. “I mean that.”

Crowley smiled, still looking down at what they were doing. A little milk in Aziraphale's tea, just a splash. They took theirs black. “All right then. Go sit down, I'll bring this over.”

“Thank you, dear one,” Aziraphale said, and settled happily on the loveseat, one arm held out when Crowley joined her and snuggled close, handing Aziraphale her tea.

“I assume we'll be open tomorrow?” Crowley asked.

“Mmmhmm. Ezra for lunch, of course, and likely some of the others will drop by. We haven't seen Will in an age and a half, and I know he's in town,” Aziraphale said, running through her mental little black book. “Shall we plan to go back home day after? One more night here would be so lovely.”

“Anything you like, angel,” Crowley promised. “The house will wait.” They kissed her hair, and nuzzled a moment. “I know our bedroom is a horror show, but let's at least _clean_ the conservatory first? I want to start moving more plants in.”

“Of course! No rush on the bedroom, the walls are holding together,” Azirphale said cheerfully. “Besides, it'll be such a bother to move out of there. Where shall we put our bed while we're working?”

Crowley shrugged. “The garden, if it's nice enough? We can make a little bower.”

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale breathed. “Open on top, of course so we can see the stars.”

Crowley smiled and nodded, not really trusting their voice. Maybe they'd have to take a few hours off of sleeping, to kiss Aziraphale in starlight. Couldn't hurt any, anyways.

Aziraphale made sure Crowley was cuddled close as they had their tea, occasionally kissing their short, fuzzy hair, or resting her head on their shoulder.

Crowley worried so, she reminded herself. About their children, about Aziraphale, and maybe most about still being wanted. It was, perhaps, a new feeling for the demon. Maybe a new feeling for both of them, to have carved a home out for themselves. Earth wasn't meant for angels or demons, but here they were, and it was home nonetheless.

Still. She would do anything, to have Crowley never, ever doubt that they could change gender and appearance and anything else they liked as often as they wished, and Aziraphale would still be utterly, wildly, completely  _mad_ for them. 

Nothing to do but be patient. She'd had a good teacher in that.

Tea was finished, and Aziraphale rinsed everything out and set it to dry; the teapot would probably see quite a lot of attention on the morrow. But for tonight it was just the two of them and Crowley's bed, moved to the bookshop when Aziraphale's old bed moved to their place in the country. She quite liked that; all of their things being used, and having not just one place to set down roots in the world.

And Crowley's bed was much improved by an antique quilt and about a half-dozen more pillows. Not that sad, thin, grey blanket and the hard bolster.

“It's like you're a waif out of Dickens,” Aziraphale scolded as they got changed for bed.

Crowley grinned at her, already resplendent in their silk nightgown. It had needed only a touch of miracle to fit their flat chest perfectly. “And you're the rich old widow who's rescued me?”

“Dear, if you want to role-play, we can negotiate,” Aziraphale said smoothly, buttoning up her pyjamas. They were new, fresh cotton lawn, and embroidered with her monogram. She was very fond of them.

“Haaaawhat? Urk. How do you? Know? _What have the children been teaching you_?” Crowley finally sputtered.

“ _Crowley._ You'd think I was a nun, the way you carry on,” Aziraphale said as she crawled under the quilt and gathered Crowley close. Or attempted to, they were still kind of flailing. “And _if_ you must know, it was Jonathan. D'you remember him?”

Crowley cast memory back. “Oh, yes, right. Dad was somebody or other in the government. Seventies.  _Nineteen_ -seventies,” they corrected themself. “Cor, it would be the strait-laced one.”

“Honestly, you of all beings should know not to judge by appearances,” Aziraphale scolded. “Yes, it was him. He and young Shelly, you remember his young man?” She grinned. “Came asking to buy a book on Ancient Rome. I asked why, and he told me about their...research goals.”

Crowley laughed. “He never did much hold with hiding his light under a bushel.” They smiled at the memory. “Where did he wind up?”

“A few years' living and trying to write on the Jurassic Coast. He died in '96. Car accident.” Aziraphale petted Crowley's hair, comforting herself a little. “I get a Christmas card from Shelly now and again.”

“Good,” Crowley said softly, and kissed Aziraphale's cheek. “So they taught you about dirty roleplay, hmm?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “They were the first to be direct about it. Of course I  _knew_ such things went on.”

Crowley grinned and gave a little wriggle. “So would you like that? To be the lady of the manor, and I a destitute young, er, person, sent to you. Perhaps to be a servant.” Crowley's eyes widened, and their pulse picked up a little. “I must see to your every whim, and spoil you and keep you in perfect comfort, and in return you pull me out of cold and hunger?”

Aziraphale gave an involuntary shudder.

“Or...not,” Crowley said delicately.

“No! Oh, love.” Aziraphale sighed. “I'm sorry. I _don't_ think I would like that very much.”

“Aziraphale, it's all right,” Crowley said gently. “We don't do anything that you don't like, you know that.”

Aziraphale smiled, and gave a little sigh. “I know you love to spoil me, sweetheart. I just. Well, I don't like thinking of you cold and hungry, even though I know you don't really feel hunger.” She cuddled them a little closer, and wrapped one leg over Crowley's hip. “But you feel the cold. And you've been so cold before, and no one was there to warm you.”

“And now I've got my angel, always. And blankets and fireplaces in nearly every room. And indoor heating.” Crowley hugged her back, and rubbed her soft hip. “But mostly the 'I've got you' bit.”

Aziraphale kissed them, just to add to the reminder. “I just...I hate to think of who you had to be, that you slept, and loved sleeping, and still had  _that_ bed.”

She was quiet a little bit, then, considering. “Darling?  _Would_ you like to...role-play? Like you said, where you tended to me?”

Now it was Crowley's turn to give a full-body shudder. “ _Oh yes_ ,” they breathed. “If you want. Only if you want, Aziraphale, that's really really really important. But yeah.”

“The only part I really didn't like was where you were cold and hungry. Even just pretending.” Aziraphale smiled shyly. “We can talk about it, all right? You spoil me plenty as it is, you know.”

“Well, of course. Because you were made for it,” Crowley tried to explain. They shook their head and smiled “We can talk about it. Plan. Figure something out.” They hugged her, and Aziraphale let herself melt into Crowley's arms, wire-and-whipcord strong. They would keep her safe; Aziraphale knew that like she knew...something deeper than breathing, even.

She snuggled up, pleased that they were ending the day on a sweet note. Even if nothing came of it, she knew a little more about Crowley now, and Crowley knew a little more about her, and that was always a good thing. And so, without meaning to, she slept.

There was no point in opening the shop early, as that might encourage customers, so they stayed in bed until quite late, sharing coffee and toast and snuggling together. Crowley was practically in Aziraphale's lap, their thin body fitting against her softness. They had quite a lot of fun making out until it truly was an obscene hour of the morning, and Aziraphale declared that she had to open up.

Crowley's whinging was abated when she chose a tailored dress for the day in a lovely pale blue that showed off her waist, and her bosom (such as it was), with startlingly bright red shoes that Crowley decided would give a saint a foot fetish. And they were hardly a saint.

They were more lax with their outfit, though opted for leather trousers in lieu of jeans, on account of not having to do home renovations for another day and feeling a need to celebrate that. And anyway, no matter what they wore, Aziraphale's eyes would get wide and she'd smile, and kiss them sweetly before going downstairs to open up for the day. Or, at least, for the hour or so until they took Ezra out for lunch in exchange for gossip.

Things were quiet until then, though, when they got a bonus surprise – Ezra towing an old friend along behind.

“Teddy!” Aziraphale pounced, going in for a hug.

“Gentle!” Teddy begged. “Gentle, aunty, I just had top surgery.”

“Oh, you darling. I'm so happy for you.” Aziraphale pulled him into the gentlest of hugs, letting him decide how much he'd press into her arms. It turned out to be a lot.

“I thought it'd be okay to surprise you,” Ezra laughed as Crowley reeled them in for a hug, before switching off with Aziraphale and cuddling Teddy close, just as tender as the angel had been. Teddy was another one they'd known since he was a literal child, brought into the shop by his dad escaping a rainstorm. He had an eye condition and wore dark glasses all the time, and Crowley knew a mini-me when they saw one, and so they had caused reams of trouble together over the years.

“Always,” Azirphale said warmly, and kissed Ezra's cheek. “Do I need a wrap? Oh, spring really is here, it's quite warm out, isn't it?”

Ezra assured her she'd be fine, and gallantly offered her their arm for the short walk to their lunch spot, where the portions could satisfy even starving uni students.

Crowley smiled at Teddy, who offered them  _his_ arm, and properly escorted, the four of them paraded forth into the sunshine.

“Everything go okay with the surgery?” Crowley asked softly.

“Perfectly,” Teddy assured them. “Just still sore. Er, actually...”

Crowley smiled and moved their arm so he didn't have to hold his up. “You okay for money? Food? We can get a meal train going with about ten minutes' notice.”

Teddy laughed. “I know! I'm fine, Crowley. I really promise. I'm so happy. I'm good for money, and I had friends cook for me for awhile, and I can manage on my own now, really.”

“That's nice,” Crowley said. “You've got my number?”

“I don't, new phone,” Teddy admitted. “I'll get it from Ezra, I promise.”

“Good man,” Crowley praised, as they rounded the corner and caught up to Ezra, who was showing Aziraphale off nearly as well as Crowley could. Crowley approved.

Lunch was a multi-course affair, with much lingering and tasting of others' dishes, giggling and catching up and ordering dessert and then coffee and then another dessert, because you only lived once, right? And their tiramisu was to die for, simply to _die_ for.

Aziraphale got the gossip on a number of her children, and made mental notes as to who might need a little miracle – poor Maritza, the visa process was impossible, and Sioned could do with an invitation the next time they were in Manchester, she always did get hit hard by breakups. Temporary hurts were noted, with Ezra promising that he had heard from Aimee who had heard from Edith that Leslie's broken ankle was doing much better, and of course her cats were being looked after and everything. Many joys were also learned of; Aziraphale kept her hand in even at the best of times, because happy things were always best when shared.

Through it all Crowley asked after particular friends and made their own notes, quieter and less open, but no less loving for it. They kept half an eye on Teddy, but he truly did seem all right, just moving a little slowly, which didn't stop them from ordering a taxi to get the kids to the train station in style when lunch was over.

“Text us when you get home,” Aziraphale ordered, and kissed them both goodbye. “Teddy, you're the most delicious surprise. I love you both. Be well, and Ezra, make sure he has Crowley's number.”

“Love you too, aunty,” Ezra promised, lifting her up with the force of their hug. “Have fun in the country! Love you, Crowley.” Another mighty hug, and Teddy bid his farewells, and then it was time to walk back to the shop, and see if anyone else would wander in.

It was mostly a quiet afternoon, though. A few friends popped their heads in to say hello, and Evelyn dropped off a walnut-coffee cake for them, though she couldn't stay for tea and more was the pity. One or two very brave customers showed their faces, but otherwise Aziraphale and Crowley drank tea, said hello to friends as needed, and gossiped their faces off about everyone they had talked about for even a moment, comparing notes and deciding who would do which miracles – Crowley was better with money, and Aziraphale better with healing, and they were about even on everything else. They even got a quick text from Annie, to say they both were doing well that day, and Aziraphale and Crowley weren't to worry at all.

“Honestly, you think a person knows you,” Crowley complained. “I stopped asking you not to worry _millennia_ ago.”

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale asked as she composed a reply. “And as we all know, you've never worried over a human in your life.”

“Quite right,” Crowley sniffed, while they stretched out on the love-seat, legs as usual all over the place, and seemingly quite comfortable with it. “Silly thing to do. You're the Principality here, you know. They're yours.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale looked up from the mobile – and for goodness' sake, as much time as she spent on Crowley's mobile, one would think she'd get one of her own, but one would be quite, quite wrong. “Don't tease about that. They love you as much as they love me. More, some of them.”

“ _Angel_ ,” Crowley wailed. “Don't start!”

“I will too start!” Aziraphale got up and came over, perching on the armrest where Crowley's legs would have been flung if one hadn't been over the back and the other aiming for the floor. “Yes, I have special protection over them. I can sense when they're not well, and work _some_ miracles more easily than you. They are mine, as was ordained by God.” Her voice softened, and she rested a hand on Crowley's calf. “But I would love them anyway. I would be aunty and mother and friend and protector anyway. The way you are. You aren't even called to it, and you love them so much. And they love you.”

Crowley's throat hurt too much to say anything, so they just nodded in a jerky motion and blinked, and hoped Aziraphale wouldn't linger on this too much.

“Good. Just ensuring you know.” Aziraphale bent and kissed the hard line of their shin. “Hips all right there, you old serpent?”

“Fine,” Crowley croaked. “Just fine.”

Aziraphale nodded, patted their leg, and to Crowley's immense relief re-took her seat to finish texting Annie back.

“They love you too,” Crowley blurted out, struck with the though of...well, if they were being honest, _revenge_.

Aziraphale paused – she had been in the midst of answering Ezra's text that they'd got home. “Of course, dearest,” she said calmly. “I am their Principality.”

“Oh, bollocks. Sure, that's what gets them in the door, but they love _you_ ,” Crowley insisted.

“Crowley!”

“Oh no! What's good for the, uh, genderfucky _Anatidae_ is good for the agender _Anatidae_ ,” Crowley insisted.

Aziraphale gave them a truly odd look. “ _What_ ?”

“You know what I mean.” Crowley sat up and fixed her with a look. “You're....you're a bloody great beacon of light, of course you are. Anyone who needs you can find you. But they _stay_ because a frumpy old angel mother-hen's them and teases them and flirts badly, and because you love them with your whole heart, and you are lovable back. Aziraphale, do you understand how much they _love_ you? Just you, not the Principality. Freely.” They blinked. “You are so easily loved, angel.”

“I.” Aziraphale looked to the side. “I believe that you believe that.”

“Heaven didn't know what they had in you,” Crowley said fiercely. “If you get to remind me that our children love me, I get to remind you of this too. That you are so, so worthy of love, and that you always were.”

“Even when I told you I didn't like you?”

“Even then,” Crowley said. “I loved you then, too. Yeah, it hurt, a lot, but you were so scared and so desperate. I forgave you ages ago for that, Aziraphale. It didn't make you unworthy of...of _anything_.”

Aziraphale wiped her eyes and smiled across the short space separating them. “I do love you so, darling. I am...I think I will believe you someday,” she confessed. “It's no longer a frightening idea. That I. That all of this is...it's all right for me, to have this,” she tried to explain, gesturing around her, and then extending her hand to Crowley. “That I. I deserve. Love.” She took a deep breath, and gave a shaky laugh. “Goodness, how silly I am.”

“You are,” Crowley said, not meaning it in the least. Their poor angel. Aziraphale was still carrying the soul-deep scars Heaven had left her with, and it was Crowley's greatest sorrow and greatest joy to help her heal them. They smiled and winked at her, and got to enjoy Aziraphale going a little pink, as she always did when flirted with.

The rest of their time in London passed as it usually did – with lashings of excellent wine and good food and plenty of time spent enjoying each others' company to the fullest. Crowley slept deep and sweet, snuggled up against Aziraphale's hip while she read through the night, and they made the drive to the country early the next morning. The day promised to be warm and sunny, and it was easy to leave their bedroom for another day and begin work in the conservatory around their palatial bath.

(Although quite against the rules they had set for themselves, it was clear that the Roman bath would be staying firmly put even when renovations were over. It was simply too delicious to give up.)

First things first – there were a few decades of grime to remove, so Crowley grabbed a broom while Aziraphale (changed back into her canvas trousers and oh saints above, a collarless shirt with sleeved folded up to just above her elbows, open nearly to her bosom, Crowley was literally going to die if this kept up) climbed a ladder with a determined look, some glass cleaner, and a pile of old newspapers.

“Angel?” Crowley said, watching her reach for the glass and polish it clean. “I know we said no miracles, but don't you think it would be safer that way?”

“Goodness, you're worse than I am,” Aziraphale scolded. “I'm quite safe, you know.”

“I know. I just.” Crowley sighed. “Be careful, will you?”

“Of course, dearest,” Aziraphale said. “I'm safer right now than I am in your deathtrap of a car.”

Crowley quite firmly disagreed, but also knew to hold their tongue. Well, Aziraphale was probably right, anyway. She was careful, and didn't reach too far or anything like that. Everything would be fine. Crowley  _did_ worry too much, but was it their fault that the love of their life was right there in a horrifically fragile body? It was not.

They were so lost in fretting that they almost missed seeing when Aziraphale set the ladder on a bit of broken tile, and reached just a little for a spot she'd missed earlier. The ladder jolted, and she tumbled down from on high, plummeting towards the hard tile floor, too fast even to scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiiiii
> 
> (Cliffhangers are the cheapest and most delicious writing trick I know, I regret nothing.)


	11. Chapter 11

Crowley moved without thinking, time slowed to stretch between seconds, and in that space they worked a reckless miracle, and it worked. It caught her. Inches from the floor, Aziraphale's body was cushioned and slowed, and gently lowered to the tiles.

Of course, they were by her side in moments, not sure if they had run or simply blinked into existence here, kneeling by Aziraphale who blinked up at them, mouth still a little open in shock.

“Easy, easy,” Crowley said, voice hard and tense. “Don't sit up yet. Does anything hurt? Move your toes for me, love.”

“I'm _fine_ ,” Aziraphale said, utterly ignoring them and sitting up, and maybe her eyes were a little wide, but she was fine, she was fine, not a hair out of place.

And she went into Crowley's arms just as quickly as they pulled her into an embrace, their hands caressing her back, checking again for any hurt, no matter how small.

“You caught me,” Aziraphale said in a tight voice. “Nothing happened. We're being...we're being silly, is all.”

“Fuck that, I'm being _scared_ ,” Crowley announced. “Terrified. Angel, never do that to me again.”

“I promise. I'm sorry. Oh love, I'm really sorry.” She sniffled. “I really didn't mean to...”

“I know. Shh, shh, I'm not angry with you, Zira. Not at all.” Crowley kissed the side of her face, hand cupping the back of her head, all her curls still untouched. “I love you, I'm so in love. Poor angel, it's all right. There's nothing to be afraid of. Nothing to be sorry for. Just a little scare, is all.”

Aziraphale laughed, still a little misty. “I'm _so_ silly. Even if I had been hurt, you would have healed me in moments.”

“Yeah, but you would have felt pain, and that's not permitted.” Crowley smiled and rocked her a little, feeling strong and like they mattered. “So it's better this way.”

“Far better,” Aziraphale agreed, and gave a little sigh. “Oh, my darling. That was frightening.”

“I know, angel. Just catch your breath, and then I'll bring you some tea. Get your nerves settled.” Crowley hoped she didn't want tea right away. They might take a little while to let go.

They got their little while – a long while really, until Aziraphale was soft and easy again in their arms. They helped her up, one hand under her elbow, and supported her over to the padded bench they used when they bathed.

“I can walk,” Aziraphale said, amusement threading through her voice.

“I know,” Crowley assured her. They kissed her brow, then her lips, then her cheek, then her lips again, opening easy under their mouth. “Temptress. I'll go brew us some tea, shall? And I'm sure we've got some iced biscuits somewhere.”

Aziraphale smiled at her. “I think I would quite enjoy that, darling.”

Crowley headed for their bedroom and the little kitchenette there, and was _just_ self-aware enough to ponder if they would, either of them, ever respond to something in a sane, sensible manner, without dramatics.

Quite probably not. Perhaps that was why they were so good together.

The cup of tea did help settle them, and the iced biscuits even more so. Aziraphale was soon smiling and easy again, and almost painfully gentle with Crowley when they needed a little longer. She kept the demon snug against her side as she miracled the glass of the conservatory sparkling clean, the ladder now quite hidden away.

“Besides,” she said. “It's not like either of us has ever been particularly good at following the rules. Even ones we set for ourselves.”

This startled Crowley into laughing, and that was better. Better yet was Aziraphale finishing the sweeping while they sat and watched her. She moved easy, light on her feet and her body falling into its usual lines. Perfect posture meant perfect balance, and Crowley liked to watch her move. They were a little wobbly themselves, still, but watching Aziraphale helped.

When they trusted themself to be functional, Crowley quietly draw them a bath. Aziraphale clearly wasn't sore, hadn't even picked up a bruise, but Crowley thought there might be unseen hurts. Maybe more for them than her, possibly, but they didn't like to admit to it. They added lavender and rose oil to the steaming water. Things to calm and sweeten both of them.

Crowley wouldn't have blamed Aziraphale for being impatient with them. It was so stupid, but there you were; when had that ever stopped them before. And she did sigh a little, but she also smiled and undressed, and helped Crowley into the bath.

“'m sorry,” Crowley mumbled, going into her arms and tucking their face into her neck. “Dunno why I'm like this.”

“Crowley, don't you _ever_ apologize for loving me,” Aziraphale said firmly.

“I wasn't! I'd never!” They made an indignant noise and looked up in wounded shock. “I'm being a pain in the arse, nothing happened, you weren't hurt at all, you fell and I caught you and it's okay I caught you. And even if I hadn't, nothing would have happened, not really.” They were shaking a little, and Aziraphale pushed off, gliding them through the deep water to sit on a warm, smooth platform, a little niche that just fit them if Crowley stayed in Azirpahale's lap.

“No, love. It would have been terribly scary, and probably hurt quite a lot, but you would have healed me in moments,” Aziraphale agreed. “At worst, I would be a little stiff and sore for a few days. But none of that happened.” She kissed the top of Crowley's head. “You went through a very frightening thing. Sometimes...sometimes the little things hit harder, you know?” She smiled a little. “I don't have nightmares about the end of the world. But I dream about that time you showed up – oh, do you remember? We were up north, hundred kingdoms and all that, and you'd been hurt when someone tried to exorcise you. A few burns, and I healed you and put you to bed and sat by the fire and shook all night, because someone had almost erased my best friend from existence.” She stroked Crowley's hair, smiling at the smooth cap it made, wet from the steam of the bath. “You're scared because you love me. That's not a bad thing, you know. Loving me.”

“ _Never_ ,” Crowley hissed, and finally broke down and had a little cry, face hidden in Aziraphale's neck so the world couldn't see.

Aziraphale held her patiently, and touched her hair and kissed her head until Crowley was finally, truly, calm.

“Love you,” she reminded them, and Crowley squeezed her around the waist.

“I know. Love you too.”

Hearts soothed, they enjoyed their bath and the sunset that accompanied it, floating and splashing a little, settling in after their few days in London. They planned to tackle the bedroom next; it would be a clear few days, so easy enough to sleep out-of-doors. (Or, worst came to worst, move the bed into Aziraphale's still-bare library, while there was room for it.)

“Are you sure you don't want to do that next?” Crowley asked, floating lazily and bumping her head against Aziraphale in the most low-effort annoying way possible. “It doesn't seem fair, to have my study but you don't have a library yet.”

“I've got a spot in your study, and that will do me,” Aziraphale comforted. “Honestly, I've got the bookshop, and if I have to spend another week in our bedroom _that_ shade of blue, I shall scream.”

“Fair,” Crowley conceded. “But your library is next. We've made it this long without the kitchen, and the other rooms don't even _have_ a purpose yet.”

“Fair,” Aziraphale agreed, and so their schedule was set.

They spent most of the next day preparing to lose their bedroom for as long as a week. Crowley made another run to the B&Q for paint (they had agreed on a pale sage-green) and other supplies, while Aziraphale miracled their bed to the prettiest corner of the still kind of dilapidated garden and all their other furniture to one of the spare rooms, just for safekeeping. She set aside a few outfits for herself, settled the kitchenette temporarily in Crowley's study, and gave the room a quick sweep. Even light miracles meant some of the plaster on the walls falling down, and Aziraphale took a moment to be thankful they were doing this _now_ , and not after a wall had fallen in on someone. At least the ceiling seemed to be all right, though they might need to pull the ladder out to touch up some of the rosettes.

She shivered, and decided they could discuss using miracles later. Though it hadn't hit her as hard as poor Crowley, she hadn't exactly _enjoyed_ falling.

They started in on the old plaster together, finding it hard going. It had been mixed with horsehair and was old and cheap, and there seemed to be a layer or six of wallpaper both under _and_ over it, and of course they had to go carefully to preserve as much of the lathe underneath.

If Aziraphale had been good at swinging a sledgehammer, Crowley proved to be surprisingly good at the delicate, fussy work of taking the walls down layer by layer, and by the end of the day they were both sweaty, covered in plaster, and grimly determined to get their bedroom livable _someday_.

“How can it be so hard to take down on purpose, yet shed dust on everything we own?” Aziraphale grumbled.

“Sod's law,” Crowley said. They were accustomed to a life which served up only the most frustrating results, and could take a philosophical view of things. Also, it was a gorgeously warm evening, and they were sipping quite a nice glass of wine in the garden while Aziraphale fussed in her white linen suit that showed the muscles of her arms and her nipped-in waist and the outline of her thighs. She was barefoot, pretty legs crossed at the ankle, and Crowley was having the time of their life frankly and openly objectifying her. They had noticed a beautiful summer dress with a _scandalously_ short skirt (by Aziraphale's standards) hanging in their study, and were wondering if that would make an appearance soon too. Or, for that matter, if they could make one in black for themself.

Oh, that could be very cute – matching dresses, with different colour schemes. Was that too twee? Crowley fired off the question to a few of their lesbians, trusting their opinions.

“Are you actually listening to me?”

Crowley came back to earth from dreams of her arms around Aziraphale's waist and their chests pressed together. “Uh.”

Aziraphale sighed.

“Sorry,” Crowley said, and meant it. “I'm paying attention now.”

“Oh, well, it's not very important...”

“Angel.” Crowley held out their hand. “I'm sorry. I was rude. Got off in my own head, you know how it is. Important or not, I want to hear it.” Poor love – she'd been ignored too much as it was.

Aziraphale ducked her head and smiled. “It really isn't. Just, I was thinking – “ And she set off on a long, rambling story that might have been a memory or something she read, Crowley wasn't absolutely sure. And it wasn't important, not in the least, but they listened anyway, because it was _Aziraphale_. And she _was_ rather precious when she tried to tell a linear story.

They slept under the stars that night. Well, an overcast sky, but there were stars beyond the clouds, and it was deliciously warm under their big velvety duvet and, at least in Crowley's case, in the arms of their best beloved. Even Aziraphale slept, although as usual she woke up first such that when Crowley blinked their eyes open she was already sitting up and reading avidly, a cup of coffee in one hand.

Aziraphale leaned over and kissed them hello, but this was not a day to linger. They split up after breakfast, Crowley to get started and Aziraphale to get changed, and she frowned a little watching Crowley walk away. Their swagger, usually ridiculous and oh _all right_ a bit sexy, looked different today. Not painful, not exactly, but...something to keep an eye on.

Aziraphale changed quickly into clothes that could get dirty, and got to their bedroom just in time to see Crowley stumble and begin to fall, before catching themself against the wall.

“Oh, bugger,” Aziraphale said sympathetically. “Hips acting up?”

“And back,” Crowley sighed. “Sorry angel.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Aziraphale came over and got her arms around Crowley gently. “Want to try crutches, darling? Or we can go back to bed.”

Crowley made a face. “Honestly? I think I need to be a snake. It's been ages anyway, and, well. It hurts,” they confessed. “I'm sorry, I'm sticking you with all the work.”

“Love, you've stuck me with all the work before when you just gawked at me.” Aziraphale kissed the back of their hand. “Snake. Now. Especially if it hurts.”

“It's not fair,” Crowley said.

“Who promised _you_ fair in this world?” Aziraphale asked, as Crowley began to transform in her arms, melding from human-shaped to huge snake, and then shrinking down to easily twine around Aziraphale's arm. They went up to her shoulders, their usual spot.

“I like you being right here, but I'm worried if you catch a bit of plaster or something,” Aziraphale said. “Someplace safe for you, please.” She touched Crowley's little leaf-shaped head.

And sighed, when a few moment later she had a snake curled up between her breasts. “Honestly?”

Crowley poked their head out, stuck their tongue out, and hissed.

“Well, yes, it is quite safe. But really, you're such a flirt, you ought to be ashamed. Get back down in there, all right?” Aziraphale patted the little gap made by her bra. These new sports bras were quite good for some things, it seemed. And it _was_ nice to have Crowley right there snuggled up to her, though she didn't like to encourage such cheekiness. It made Crowley far, far too self-satisfied.

Working a little but not quite on her own, Aziraphale made some progress at least. She took a break for lunch and shared a cup of tea with Crowley in the garden, the little snake reappearing once there was no danger of getting squished by anything. It was a lovely, quiet day, even when Aziraphale checked Crowley's phone and discovered her question about matching dresses.

“Oh, darling! I think we'd be beautiful together,” was her opinion while Crowley wondered if snakes could die of embarrassment. “Aelis agrees with me. Annie thinks we're too precious as it is though, and oops, I think we just witnessed their first domestic.” She smiled and scrolled some more. “Leslie says hello and her cast is off, oh good girl. Also that we'd look very cute but we'd have to find a cut that's flattering for both of us. Evelyn wants to know why you just thought of this _now_ , and _ooh_ , Dylan suggested matching trouser suits, which would be very dapper indeed.” Aziraphale fired off a few replies, always carefully signing them so everyone would know who they were talking to.

An afternoon's worth of work showed careful but definite progress, and Aziraphale was very pleased with herself as she showered away the day's grime, Crowley patiently waiting for her atop a stack of towels.

“You know, you can stay on my shoulders now,” Aziraphale said when they re-took their spot in her bosom.

There was a decided lack of answer, and of snake movement. Aziraphale just smiled, shook her head, and retired to her little corner of Crowley's study with a book.

They stayed a snake for two more days, and stayed close to Aziraphale day and night. Crowley made themself into jewelry when it was safe, coiling around Aziraphale's arm or her neck or, once, her finger and getting a delighted giggle out of it. Aziraphale managed to clear one whole wall, and was rightly quite proud of herself, and celebrated with a half-day and a glass of wine in the garden, which of course was shared.

As the sun set, Crowley flowed away from Aziraphale's throat where they had been playing the part of a jewelled necklace, and slowly transformed back into a human body, ending with a little shiver.

“My dear!” Aziraphale laughed and threw her arms around her love, welcoming her back. “No more hurting?” she asked warmly, one arm firm around Crowley's waist while they remembered they had legs again.

“No more hurting,” Crowley said with a shy smile. “Little wobbly still, but I think the worst is over.”

“We can work with a little wobbly.” Aziraphale felt she couldn't stop smiling, and she tucked a lock of their hair, now shoulder-length, behind one ear. “Oh, you're so gorgeous. I always forget, when it's been a few days. You're just beautiful in every form, sweetheart.”

Crowley laughed and hid their face in Aziraphale's shoulder. “You've seen my true form...”

“And you're beautiful like that, too,” Aziraphale said. “Can you walk, love? Do you want to sit?”

They found that Crowley did best if they could hold onto Aziraphale's arm, but they could walk to their bed and settle with a soft, contented sound. Aziraphale slipped some pillows under their knees and snuggled up happily. She adored Crowley's snake form, of course, but it was so nice to have a human companion again, and be able to talk and be kissed and hold one another in warm arms.

“I'm sorry,” Crowley said. “It's not fair you having to take on the work.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I don't mind, and it's hardly anyone's fault. I expect it'll all work out in the end, really.” She nuzzled Crowley's cheek. “Let's take a holiday tomorrow. Have some fun together. Even if we stay in bed, I want to be with you.”

“Think I can manage that,” Crowley said. “Tell you what, let's drive into town, go to lunch at a little cafe?”

“Oh, scrummy!”

Crowley laughed as an angel wiggled with joy in their arms. “Will you wear my apple necklace, please? The one you gave me. I want to see it on you.”

“Only if you'll pick some of my jewellery to wear,” Aziraphale said. “Fair's fair.”

“Who promised _you_ fair?” Crowley mimicked in their mocking-Aziraphale tones, all plummy and uptight, and got a little shove for their troubles. They cackled with joy and rolled over and dove for Aziraphale, tickling whatever they could reach until their angel was shrieking with joy, curled up in a little ball.

At least, that was the plan; in truth they were evenly matched, and ended with both of them panting on the bed, giggling and wiping tears of laughter away under the setting sun.

Aziraphale miracled them up a cheese plate and good wine, and they toasted one another and the house, England and the world, as the first breaths of summer came over the wind.

When she did a holiday, Aziraphale reflected, she did it _right_. It was a perfect spring day only light, fluffy clouds in the sky, and they never covered the sun for more than a few moments. She was wearing a pretty yellow dress and silk stockings and silk ankle boots with a nice heel that she hoped Crowley would like.

(Just because she was soft butch most of the time didn't mean she couldn't look pretty and femme as all get-out when she wanted to, Aziraphale firmly believed.)

She was dressing in the library; they had agreed to surprise each other, though Crowley still had to sit down and go through Aziraphale's things to find something pretty to suit them. Aziraphale herself was wearing the apple necklace and the matching bracelet, and had put simple silver hoops in her ears. A matching pair were set aside if Crowley wanted that, or a set of pearl drops; one black and one white. There was a fine gold chain with a little leaf worked in enamel, and a string of pearls. Of course, she owned far more than that, but she tried to pick out things that Crowley might like.

Aziraphale regarded herself in the looking-glass atop her vanity and smiled. She was pretty; well, fair enough, it wasn't a sin to admit that. Her hair was too short to be fashionable, but it suited her, and Crowley had never said anything but how they loved her curls. Her face was sweet enough, and a little make-up went a long way, especially around her eyes. She would do, for a day in a country village. Just about.

She smoothed the bodice of her dress down, smiling a little at the curve of her bosom, her waist nipping in, and the soft bulge of her tummy. The skirt skimmed her hips, but no one would ever mistake her for slim, and that was more than all right. Especially when it meant a loving demon using her as a pillow, murmuring about how soft she was as they fell asleep. She _was_ soft, and anyone who thought that was bad could, well, they could _stuff it_.

Aziraphale smiled at her reflection, and smiled wider when she saw Crowley behind her in the doorway. “Darling!”

Crowley, of course, was dressed to impress, because they didn't know any other way to. Skin-tight trousers as per usual, and a silk t-shirt over them. A light jacket against the cool of late spring, perfectly tailored to them, a flash of red under the collar. Everything precisely of the moment, and precisely not leaving one inch of the demon's body to the imagination, from the tip of their snakeskin boots to their artfully-mussed hair. They were also using a single crutch, in a wholly predictable matte black, because of _course_.

“Fuck, you're so fucking gorgeous,” Crowley groaned.

“The romance is overwhelming me here.” Aziraphale said dryly, but smiled softly at them over one shoulder. “Come and sit down, I picked out some things I thought you might like.”

Crowley crossed the room and Aziraphale watched them carefully, but they moved easily enough; far more easily with the crutch than on their own, for that matter.

“Hope you don't mind?” Crowley said with a cocked eyebrow as they rested it against Aziraphale's vanity.

“I do not,” Aziraphale said, because sometimes Crowley needed simple answers, and they always, always deserved an answer. She also cupped Crowley's face in her hands and kissed them long and soft and look they'd _both_ have to touch up their lipstick before they went out, but that was all right. “What do you think of these, love?”she asked, showing off the jewellery she'd picked out.

“Pretty,” Crowley said. “I like the pearl earrings. For a necklace – do you still have that one that's like braided ropes of metal?

“I know just what you mean,” Aziraphale said, and hunted through a few boxes while Crowley put in the earrings. It was a thin piece of metalwork, no more than a centimetre wide, a flat braid of woven tubes of fine wire in silver, copper and gold. The weaving dulled the metals somewhat, but the metal was liquid and soft, and rested beautifully across Crowley's exposed collarbones.

“Oh, I am a lucky angel,” Aziraphale murmured, leaning in for one more kiss.

“I like this on you,” Crowley said, touching the necklace Aziraphale wore. “Suits you.”

“Suits you better, love,” Aziraphale said. “But thank you for lending it to me.” She smiled and looped an arm around Crowley's waist. “We do make a picture.”

Crowley kissed her cheek, and took a few selfies of them – once they'd both touched up their makeup. Half to be obnoxious and half to preserve the day, where they got prettied up and went out for no reason other than they wanted to.

They had a delightful holiday, not that either of them expected otherwise. Crowley drove three villages over as they'd heard the High Street was quite nice there, and found it so; the usual chain stores, of course, but also some small local shops full of interesting things. The wide road was closed to cars but paved with fresh stones, smooth and easy to walk along. They went for lunch at a cunning little cafe, flirting over sandwiches and coffee.

There was quite a nice dress shop nearby, and it didn't take much nudging from Crowley to go in, and for Aziraphale to buy herself a new frock. Shy and sweet and a little strange outside of her familiar haunts, the shopgirls, predictably, immediately fell in love with her. Crowley took one look at the seating set aside for bored husbands and boyfriends, and plunged into the racks alongside Aziraphale, advising on colours and cuts, the two of them very definitely shopping _together_ , and praising her final decision to the heavens.

“Honestly, you're _unbearable_ ,” Aziraphale murmured as they left.

“They wanted to stick me in a corner with a cup of tea! All right for _some_ , I suppose,” Crowley observed in an excessively (in Aziraphale's opinion) judgemental tone of voice. “But not _me_.”

Aziraphale just smiled and looped her arm through Crowley's.

They even found a short, sweet ramble to go on, following a canal path a little outside of the village. Aziraphale kept her arm entwined with Crowley's, but it was for pleasure rather than need on her sweet demon's part, and they chatted happily of all sorts of things.

They had never run out of things to talk about, Aziraphale realized, when a startled duck had sent Crowley going on about something or other. Of course there were often comfortable silences, but she had never, ever run out of things she wanted to tell Crowley, or share with them, or, if she were being honest, lecture them about. Not in six thousand years.

The thought so delighted her that she kissed them right on the path, there in front of everybody. Sure 'everybody' was the duck who had come back to hunt for food, but it still counted.

“All right then,” Crowley grinned at her, and tidied an errant curl. “You're beautiful, angel.”

“So're you. Beautiful. Handsome. Whatever word you like best.” Aziraphale kissed their cheek and they resumed walking, taking a break at a handy bench before turning around to head back to the village and perhaps a cup of tea before they drove home.

They held hands on the bench and watched the canal quietly, simply being together. Aziraphale rested her head on Crowley's shoulder, and loved her life so much she was pretty sure they could feel in Heaven. She hoped they were all choking on it.

The two of them did find time for one more cup of tea and a heartening slice of cake before returning to the Bentley and, thus, to home and a little cuddle in their sitting room, in a corner that caught the sunset over the garden.

“Well, that worked out,” Crowley said, nodding to the crutch now propped up against the sofa.

“It did indeed,” Aziraphale agreed, snuggling them a little closer. “How do you feel, dearest?”

“Fine. Good.” Crowley's smile grew. “Really good. I got to have a day out with you.”

“At worst it would have been a day in, and I'd love you just the same,” Aziraphale said gently. “But this was good too. You don't have to give anything up.”

Crowley nodded and settled their head on Aziraphale's chest, legs thrown over her lap. “Nor did you.”

“Wouldn't have anyway. I _do_ like my new dress, though,” she admitted, and smiled when Crowley laughed. “Yes, yes, hush up. We'll have to go shopping for you next time, you know.”

“Whatever you like, angel.”

Crowley closed their eyes and did not doze, please perish the very thought. But it was easy to rest deeply. No pain in their hips, even after a busy day, and perhaps tomorrow they could join in the work again; their bedroom wasn't even a quarter done. Even if they had to work one-handed or sitting, that wasn't so bad. Nothing could possibly be bad, cuddled in Aziraphale's lap while she hummed and stroked Crowley's hair and pressed a kiss to the top of their head from time to time.


	12. Chapter 12

“What were we _thinking_?” Crowley grumbled a scant hour into work the next day.

“That this house will be ours in a way nothing else ever has been,” Aziraphale said. “Not even Eden.”

Crowley sighed deeply, set their hammer and chisel down, and hauled Aziraphale (who gave a startled squeak) into their lap to kiss her silly.

“I don't like you at _all_ ,” they told her.

Aziraphale winced. “Perhaps not that joke today?”

“Oh, darlin'.” Crowley went soft so fast they were pretty sure they heard a pop. “I was teasing, I'm sorry. I love you.” They cuddled her close for a moment and kissed her head. Her curls were hidden under a scarf, keeping them clean, and Crowley didn't particularly like it, but it made more sense than their ponytail. 

“I know. I do, truly. Don't mind me,” Aziraphale begged.

“I will too,” Crowley said, and rubbed her hip. “I'll try not to fuss. I love you.”

“Your sacrifice is noted.” Aziraphale smiled and kissed them. “I love you too, Crowley, so much. But this isn't getting the walls done.”

Crowley pouted and let Aziraphale up. Their hips were okay, but it was easier to work sitting, so they had snagged a chair and did the low bits of the wall, and Aziraphale had a ladder (very very carefully placed) and did everything above where Crowley could comfortably reach. It meant they worked close to one another, Aziraphale keeping just ahead. It was very nice, Crowley thought to themself. Cozy, even, to be doing this together and working in concert. Not like the Arrangement, which was all swapped chores and two-headed coins; now they were both doing the hard part.

And it  _was_ hard. It was dirty and messy and (on Aziraphale's part, in Crowley's opinion) dangerous. Despite the fact that the plaster turned to a fine dust as soon as the layers of paint and wallpaper were breached, it took ages to get it down to the lathe underpinning, and there was much sweating and picking away and even Aziraphale looked like she was about to cuss a blue streak.

She ultimately  _did_ when they reached the last bit. It was a span not much wider than she was, and she sighed deeply, regarding it.

“Hm?” Crowley asked, looking up from their work. They sort of liked how painstaking it was, if they were being honest. 

“We are going out for a _nice_ dinner tonight,” Aziraphale announced. “Your treat.”

“Mine!” Crowley yelped, like they didn't have all the money in the world if they wanted.

“Yours,” Aziraphale announced. She was starting on her bit standing on the ground, so Crowley's blood pressure was almost normal. Aziraphale glared at the wall.

Crowley started chipping away at the bit left before them, watching Aziraphale out of the corner of one eye.

Finally, she sighed and threw in the back of the clawhammer and the entire wall came off in one crumbly, gross, dusty mass that broke over her.

Aziraphale gave a little shriek of surprise, and of course Crowley was checking on her in a moment. She was completely unhurt, though, just covered in plaster and dust.

There was a long, pregnant silence.

“Well, I'm glad the fucking thing is down at least,” Aziraphale finally said.

Crowley had to sit down, they were laughing so hard, and Aziraphale made an annoyed sound and shook out her hair in their direction.

“Stop! Stop, I'm sorry!”

“No, you're not!”

“No, I'm not,” Crowley agreed, and gave her a little tug so she sat in their lap. “Oh, you pathetic thing.”

Aziraphale sneezed, and it was cuter than it had any right to be. She was white with plaster and had bits of horsehair and wallpaper and more plaster clinging to her. She blinked hard, and oh, the poor thing, truly. If she was already having a bad day, having a wall technically fall on her wouldn't help.

Crowley made a little 'tsk' sound, snapped, and at least she was clean again, and not blinking who-knew-what out of her eyes.

“Thanks,” she said, and Crowley gave her a little cuddle.

“Self-preservation,” they said. “Nothing more.” They checked her over for bruises one more time, hand ghosting over her shoulder, her bosom, her hip.

“Cheeky,” Azirpahale said. “I'm fine, you ridiculous thing. She did settle her head on Crowley's shoulder, though, so that was all right.

“Good,” Crowley said and kissed the top of her head. “Now scoot. Some of us can't bring a wall down with one hit.”

Aziraphale rolled her eyes, and scooted, sweeping up the mountain of dust and muck and dirt while Crowley pecked away at the last of the awful old wall.

When she slipped down to the floor to work on the last foot or two, Aziraphale brightened. “Crowley! When you finish, we're halfway done!”

“Oh, Satan,” Crowley said, looking around the huge room. “Well. Halfway's better than not at all.”

“That's the spirit!” Aziraphale gave a dorky little fistpump, and Crowley fell even more in love, and loathed every second of it.

Crowley finished just at a decent hour of the afternoon even, all ready for a long, relaxing soak in the bath, their angel in arms. Aziraphale hadn't been kissed head to toe in, oh,  _days_ at least, and Crowley wanted to tickle behind her knees to see her wriggle and laugh. There were stormclouds coming in, so they moved the great four-poster bed to what would be the library and what was currently empty, beautiful shelves with a great wall of windows at one end.

Aziraphale had been quite serious about being taken out to dinner though, and made this clear, so it was a shower for her and a miracle for Crowley. They dressed together – or, rather, Crowley lounged on the bed and offered colour commentary while Aziraphale slowly and methodically selected her outfit. They'd miracle something up just before they left as usual, and until then quite enjoyed sipping a cocktail in their dressing gown.

“Oh, bugger it,” Aziraphale said after going through two dresses and two suits. “I'll split the difference.” So she paired a lovely silk waistcoat and a cotton shirt with a pencil skirt Crowley hadn't even known she _owned_.

“Very nice,” they approved, while Aziraphale turned and smoothed the skirt over her hips and bottom.

“Is it?” She bit her lip and looked over one shoulder. “It doesn't leave much to the imagination.”

“I know, that's why it's nice,” Crowley pointed out.

There was more lip-biting and oh yes, definitely time to move 'kiss Aziraphale all over' up on the schedule.

“Honey.” Crowley _never_ called her anything but her name or 'angel', and they hoped this would get Aziraphale's attention. “You're so, so beautiful. You should be proud of that body of yours. It's strong and gorgeous and it holds you.”

Aziraphale blushed a little. “I oughtn't be so vain, you know.”

“The fuck you should.” Crowley got up and walked over to her, pulling her into a soft hug. “Zira, you're _so_ beautiful. But if it makes you uncomfortable, don't wear the skirt. Just know that it flatters you, okay?”

Aziraphale gave a great shiver and hugged them back. “All right. And I  _will_ wear it.” The 'so there, Gabriel, you unmannered stupid prick' went unsaid, but only because Crowley was busy kissing Aziraphale and that was nicer than saying that. Just.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said when the kiss ended, and she turned back to find a nice tie to complete the look.

Crowley braced for more, for Aziraphale apologising for the centuries of abuse she'd undergone and the resulting fears and the way she still looked nervous when someone was yelling, or sometimes, thankfully more rarely, when she was enjoying a meal.

She was quiet, though, choosing a bright scarlet tie that was Crowley's, and Crowley tried to keep the way their heart sang hidden; wouldn't do to overwhelm her. But oh, how beautiful it was to see their angel making themselves lovely, with that contented little smile on her face that she'd shown so rarely since Eden.

“And what about you, dearest?” Aziraphale asked, when her outfit was done, from neat curls to shined shoes to a particularly nice new perfume.

Crowley shrugged and snapped their fingers. Long, slinky black dress with a square neck and no sleeves to show off their arms. Nothing fancy, but it would do.

“Oh, my dear. You're always so lovely,” Azirphale said, and kissed their cheek. “I think I'd like something French tonight.”

“Anything you want, angel,” Crowley promised, holding out their arm to walk her to the car.

They had an absolutely glorious evening out, stopping first at a bar for drinks, then going just down the road to lovely little restaurant that had just opened and served oysters Rockefeller precisely the way Aziraphale liked them best. The two of them made a striking couple, Crowley reckoned, and they preened under appreciative looks they got.

(Aziraphale scowled  _magnificently_ at the one or two unappreciative looks, and Crowley just beamed even harder and kissed the back of her hand. The angel made some old bat drop her fork, it was great.)

Dinner was a poem, and so was the wine to go with it. Sometimes these nights blurred into a mix of sensation and joy, and all Crowley remembered was warm lights and Aziraphale's eyes gone bright and happy and a general sense of joy. But they remembered every moment of this night; the conversation, the chatting about starting the garden soon, what with spring well underway, the bitching about the bedroom walls and Crowley teasing Aziraphale for having a whole wall fall on her.

They drove them home in the velvet-dark night, and definitely did not feel like sleeping.

Aziraphale made a warm, low light in their temporary bedroom, something like candle-light but bright enough to see as she began to unbutton her waistcoat. Idly, she admired Crowley as they wiggled out of their dress; that long, slender body just moved so deliciously. And their hips and back were so much better; no crutch needed, just their usual swagger, with no pain, and with joints where they ought to be.

Half-dressed, Aziraphale crossed the room to kiss Crowley, since she could. Just a few years out of her long, long life, but already it was an everyday thing, to press their mouths together, to kiss hello and goodbye and good morning. I love you and you're funny and you're actually really really annoying but you're cute too. To kiss a bump or a bruise, to kiss the deep sadness that sometimes welled up in both of them. How lovely it was, for this to be commonplace.

“Hullo you,” Crowley said warmly, and slipped their hands into Aziraphale's open shirt, hugging her bare waist.

“I love you,” Aziraphale said. “Tonight was exactly what I needed, I think.”

“Then it's good you got it.” Crowley kissed under her chin, the soft skin of her throat. “May I?” Their fingertips ghosted over the clasp of her bra.

“Oh, please.” Aziraphale shrugged her shirt off, with Crowley helping, and turned around so they could undo the band and slip her bra off. It was a pretty, lacy thing; a nice treat after a day of hard graft.

“Pretty girl,” Crowley praised. They cupped her breasts in their hands and kissed her shoulder. Nothing more than that, for either of them, but it did feel so nice to touch and be touched.

“Silly snake,” Aziraphale shot back, and went to take off her necklace.

“Leave it?” Crowley asked, and kissed the nape of her neck. “I want. All right. This is stupid, but. I.”

Aziraphale waited patiently. Crowley was really awful at asking for things. Poor love, they'd got out of the habit; one didn't ask for anything in Hell. And asking anything of Aziraphale for so long...

She pushed that thought away for the moment. Crowley loved her even then, even when she couldn't give them what they deserved. But she could now; Crowley could ask for the moon and Aziraphale would set it in silver and give them a diadem, with a scatter of stars to complement it.

“I want to cover you in jewels,” Crowley mumbled. “I mean. I want. You're so beautiful. I want to...decorate you. Our jewellery. It's stupid, never mind.”

“It's beautiful,” Aziraphale said, startled by how closely Crowley had been following her thoughts. “I would adore that. Only you must have some too.” She turned around in Crowley's arms and rested her hands on their waist. “Truly, sweetheart. This sounds like fun.” She grinned because, well, it _did_ sound fun.

“Really?” Crowley ducked their head. “If you want to read or take a bath or, um, do anything else. We can do that.”

“I do not,” Aziraphale said, very clearly. “I want you to absolutely _drape_ me in pretty things. Indulge yourself, please. Here, I'll start.” Feeling bold – being brave _for_ Crowley did things to her – she snapped her fingers and was instantly quite nude. She turned and went to her vanity, and started pulling out boxes. “Pick us out a bottle of wine, please, love?”

“Uh. Right. Yes, of course. Um.” Crowley laughed suddenly. “You're a wonder, you know that?”

“I'm a very spoiled angel who wants to look pretty and make you happy is what I am,” Azirphale told them firmly. “Wine, Crowley. And don't you dare take off anything you're wearing – any jewellery, I mean. Clothes can go.” She turned up the heat in the room a good couple of degrees; a frozen snake was no one's idea of fun. A bit of music, lovely Fauré, and everything was set.

She welcomed Crowley back with a hug, their bodies coming together and they both sighed in contentment, and giggled at themselves.

Aziraphale took care of the wine while Crowley shed their dressing-gown and started to carry some of the jewellery boxes over to the bed, joining Aziraphale and accepting a glass of wine. They toasted one another, and kissed. And kissed a lot more.

“Stop distracting me,” Crowley scolded, while Aziraphale just giggled and gave a little wriggle, lying down on the velvet duvet. It would soon be too warm for that, Crowley made a mental note. Best replace it with a lighter quilt, or a duvet cover of linen, ancient and worn butter-soft.

They started with a necklace dripping in diamonds; not Aziraphale's usual thing at all, but it lay against her chest and sparkled and was very beautiful, so on it went. Next, two gold chains clipped together to span Aziraphale's hips.

She looked down and smiled at the effect. “Oh, sweetheart, that's nice.”

“Not even close to done yet,” Crowley said, and took a long chain with pretty quartz drops along it, something very, very old, and hooked it on so that it fell across Aziraphale's sex (or where she'd have a sex, if she could be bothered. “Yum.”

“I'll yum you,” Aziraphale scolded. She sorted through a box of earrings and picked out the ones she liked; long, long strands of jet beads, like liquid darkness. Very tenderly, she took out the small gold studs Crowley was wearing and set them aside for safekeeping, and slipped the hooks of the long earrings through. 

“There,” she said, admiring. “But it needs something more.” Little opal studs for the second set of holes Crowley had, sparkling white against the black,all against Crowley's flame-hair. Oh yes. Her demon was _gorgeous_.

Crowley laughed and kissed her shoulder while she gloated, then caught up one of her hands to slip rings on. Most of Aziraphale's were quite old; Anglo-Saxon at the newest, rock crystal held in gold, or simple worked wire, so Crowley dove into their own collection too and soon Aziraphale was laughing, rings on every finger and gems of every colour.

“Oh, my dear.” She ran her fingers down Crowley's chest, admiring the look. Carefully avoiding their nipples – Crowley didn't much like them being touched – but resting on the ridge of their ribs, then their waist, pulling them in for a kiss.

“Just as I thought. You ought to go around dripping jewels and gold and silver all the time,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale shook her head. “No. I shouldn't like it all the time – how could I help around the house?” she said, ever-practical. “You'd get tired of the coldness and hardness. I'd much rather be just – me.”

“There is nothing _just_ about you, angel,” Crowley choked out, before they flung themself into Aziraphale's arms, body hard and strong and so, so precious. Aziraphale just smiled and rocked them a little, and took advantage of Crowley curling up in her lap to add a few anklets, delicate little chains that showed their legs off so nicely.

She laughed when Crowley urged her up to kneel, and added necklace after necklace to the chain around her waist, dangling a few bracelets as well until Aziraphale had a kind of skirt – though far too short to really be considered so, in her mind – of chains and gems and pretty things. She wiggled her hips a little and laughed again at the chiming sound, and the way Crowley's brain pretty clearly turned off.

She sipped her wine, feeling glorious and beautiful and wanted, and kissed Crowley hard, in thanks for this feeling.

“Fuck _me_ ,” Crowley groaned, resting their head between Aziraphale's breasts. “Uh, not literally.”

“I know, dear heart.” Aziraphale wasn't opposed to sex, but she hardly minded not having it, a thing she sometimes had to gently remind Crowley of. She kissed their hair, took another healthy drink of wine, and set it aside to find something to decorate her sweetheart's hair with.

The gold circlet Arthur had given her was pressed into service, tenderly binding Crowley's curls, and Aziraphale took advantage to put the glass apple and enamel bracelets onto their wrists. Her moment was short-lived, though, as Crowley soon settled her back against some pillows to adorn her wrists and ankles with more pretties.

They talked and laughed and teased one another tenderly, and Aziraphale held perfectly still as Crowley took the opals out of their ears and slipped them into Aziraphale's, saying they were better for her, that they matched her hair. Aziraphale kissed them, and kissed them again, and they giggled and admired one another.

The weather had kicked up, and rain beat against the windows, making the room extra-cosy, especially when Aziraphale rose from the bed to pour another glass of wine and twirled and showed off for Crowley.

They were kneeling on the bed, and applauded her, face alight. “I knew it. I knew you'd be so beautiful.”

“This was such fun,” Aziraphale agreed, leaning in to kiss them, and twirling again so the jewellery around her waist spun out and twinkled in the warm light, before falling into place, curving over her round bottom and hips. “Thank you, darling. I feel.” She stopped, and breathed deep, and closed her eyes. “I feel so loved. And _wanted_. You want me as I am.”

“Always,” Crowley said, their voice shaking. “Never anything other than that.”

Aziraphale smiled, and it trembled. “Do you know? I think you're the only being in the whole universe who ever only wanted me, wholly and only me.”

“Your children,” Crowley said promptly.

“ _Our_ children,” Aziraphale corrected, and it was Crowley's turn to have to breathe deeply. “And yes. And no. They love me, yes, I know. But they don't know me like you do.” She opened her eyes and spread her arms, all light and sparkle and beauty. “They don't even know me like my own angelic brethren do.” She smiled. “The other angels don't give a flying fuck about me. They don't even hate me. I _disgust_ them, and I always knew it. But you? You know me like they do, and you love me. I think you even understand how immense that is, how great a gift that is in my life. You love my books and my wittering on and my clothes and how I need things just so. Crowley, you know everything about me and _yet you love me_.” She paused, and held a hand to her eyes. “I can't believe it some days.”

“ _Always_ ,” Crowley said in a raw voice, and got up, a little wobbly not from their hips but on account of their heart. “I love you all day, every day, forever.” They held her carefully; so much jewellery pressed against angel-soft skin, it wouldn't do to hurt. “I know all the secrets of your heart, and I love every one. Just like you love me.”

Aziraphale laughed, and hugged them, and laughed again when they jumped apart a little, all the metal and jewels hurting a little. “Sorry, dearest. Do you want to take a picture?”

Crowley shook their head. “I'll remember, for all time. And we'll play like this again. I'd like to, anyway.” They snapped their fingers, and it was just their bare bodies, and a grateful embrace, Aziraphale snuggling into Crowley's arms, resting her head on their shoulder. They were both really nearly the same height, but it  _was_ so nice to be a little bit shorter. To be cuddled and protected this little bit more.

And now it was her turn to cuddle and coddle. She fussed Crowley into pyjamas, and then into bed, tucking them in against any stray chill that might have the extreme temerity to make it past the bubble of warmth she'd put around their bed. She kissed them, and tidied away the wine, and kissed them again as they curled up on their side, already half-asleep.

“What a glorious day you've given me,” she murmured. “I could have a hundred walls fall on me, and still come out ahead, with you to do such nice things.”

“ _Mmmph_.” Crowley opened one eye. “No walls falling on you. No _you_ falling. None of that.”

“None of that,” Aziraphale agreed, and stroked their hair. “Sleep now, dear one. You're so tired. I'll be right here all night, I promise.”

“ _Angel_ ,” Crowley announced to the universe, wrapped their arms around her thigh, and fell asleep like that, head pillowed on her soft leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I guess if I ever commission fanart, I've got a scene all ready-made...
> 
> (psych i have like twenty scenes)


	13. Chapter 13

_I Name You Aziraphale_ .

The cherubim opened their eyes, and they  _were_ . Dozens of eyes in every colour blinked and took in the universe around them. They stretched wings in every hue, and they existed.

They learned the heavens like that; one of four, they were created to be guardians. Warriors, if called upon; they were made to destroy with impunity in order to protect whatever they were commanded to. That would all come so much later, though, after time had been invented.

For now, the cherubim learned the world around them. They learned their own form; wings and eyes and dimensions that were uncountable. They learned to love their Creator, the one who had named them and spoken them into being. They learned to love other things, too. They were one of four in particular, their closest siblings, but there were other cherubim, and other beings of all shapes and sizes.

Then came time to choose a corporation. They had seen others walking the firmament before, but had thus far been overlooked for assigning of bodies. God was refining temporal creatures, and used Her first creations as a kind of practice run. By the time Aziraphale was remembered and invited to make a form from the heavens and fire and breath, things were pretty well settled.

They chose carefully and thoughtfully, taking their time over every aspect. Kind eyes. A warm, round body, any sharp bones well-padded. Soft hands and sensitive fingertips and strong arms and legs; they thought they might have to do a lot, to help the humans in the early days. Best to be trustworthy at first look, and strong. And best to be comfortable; they liked the look of round shapes and a sweet, soft face. Their eyes changed colour here, too, though they had only two. They would have liked to keep their rainbow wings in this form as well, but were told that all corporations would have white wings. One had to have something the same, after all, so their riot of colour was saved for their truest form.

Aziraphale opened their eyes again, and admired their corporation. They received a satisfied blessing from God, and began to explore the world.

Walking. They ought to start with walking. Many of the host simply flew from place to place, or transported themselves; half of his fellow Guardians had even declined a corporation! But Aziraphale wanted to walk.

So they took a wobbly step, and shifted their weight, and fell, and learned pain for the first time.

“Oh! Don't worry, dear one, we all fall the first time.” An angel who had been nearby swooped in. They set their basket aside and knelt by Aziraphale. 

“I'm sorry,” Aziraphale said miserably. “I've pulled you away from your work.”

“It'll keep,” the angel said. “What hurts, sweetling?”

Aziraphale untangled themelf from their robes, and winced at how their ankle was already swelling. They'd had this corporation no time at all, and they were already damaging it! This would never please God.

“Oh, no.” Aziraphale cringed, expecting a scolding, but the angel went on. “Oh, poor thing, that looks painful. Don't worry, it'll stop in a moment.” They cupped Aziraphale's foot in their hands and breathed out softly.

The pain faded away, and the swelling with it.

“Aren't you supposed to be working?” an Archangel called, spotting the angel with their basket set to the side. Aziraphale cringed again.

“In a moment! The universe will wait, Gabriel,” the angel called back. They looked back at Aziraphale and smiled. “Such an impatient creature. We have all time to make the stars.”

“You make stars?” Aziraphale breathed. They had watched the star-angels a little, when they thought they wouldn't be in the way.

The angel shrugged. “So do a lot of us. I won't be missed.”

“You have the most incredible job!”

The angel smiled at him. “It's nothing special. Not like you, dear one.” They touched Aziraphale's hand. “Do you want help? Walking's easy, once you get the knack of it.”

“I – oh. But I can't keep you from your duties!”

The angel shrugged again. “You're not.” They had beautiful, flaming-red curls that they tossed over their shoulders. “Up you go – oh, what's your name?”

Aziraphale told them, and the angel said their name in return.

Legs a little shaky, Aziraphale stood with the angel's help, and took another tentative step forward, then one after that, the angel talking him through how to shift their weight, how to balance, how not to fall.

“Are you sure your ankle is healed?” they asked, clearly worried. “It doesn't hurt at all, right?”

“Not a bit,” Aziraphale assured them, touched by meeting the only other creature in existence who seemed as anxious as Aziraphale usually felt. “You...you're a wonderful healer.”

They smiled at one another, and the angel didn't leave them until Aziraphale was walking easily, a spring in their step, and they promised over and over that they were fine, that the angel could go back to their job.

“All right,” the angel finally said, reluctantly. “Only you must call for me if you get hurt again, or anything like that.” They looked down. “Or anyone, really. You shouldn't ever be in pain.”

“I'll call for you,” Aziraphale promised softly. “Go. I'll see you soon.” They lifted the basket of star-stuff and handed it to the angel, and the two of them smiled at one another.

They met again not long after, when the angel was lounging in a little spot where they could see much of the host, but not be seen. Aziraphale stumbled upon them while trying to find a place to...not hide. Certainly they had no need to hide from their fellow beings. But. Perhaps to not be in so much of a crowd. To not have to fear that their shortcomings would be revealed _so_ easily.

“Aziraphale!” The angel grinned and moved over, making room. “Come and watch with me. Shouldn't you be with them?” he asked, pointing to some of the cherubim.

“I don't like training to fight,” Aziraphale admitted. “I can do it well enough, I suppose, but it's very loud and very fast. I am a _guardian_ , it doesn't feel quite right learning how...how to kill.”

“Soft-hearted thing,” the angel said warmly, and wrapped an arm around Aziraphale's shoulders, pulling them in.

Aziraphale gasped, and then melted into the angel's side. Oh, oh, this was even better than when the angel had held their foot and healed it.

“Oh, sweetheart. Has no one hugged you yet?” the angel asked.

“Is that what this is?” Aziraphale whispered, holding perfectly still. 

“Well, not a very good one. Here, turn and face me – there. That's better.” The angel held them gently, arms around them, and it was the easiest thing in the world for Aziraphale to hold them back.

Aziraphale couldn't stop a small sound. They were so  _warm_ , and they had a...a friend! That's what this was!

“Poor sweetheart. We angels have it easy,” the angel murmured to them. “A little more freedom than your lot, I think.” They rubbed Aziraphale's back, and Aziraphale whimpered again.

“Who let you go on like this, and didn't love you?” they demanded, and in a moment Aziraphale was in their lap. It was so funny – the angel was so thin, not like Aziraphale's corporation at all, but it didn't hurt or anything like that. It felt...beyond good.

“God loves me,” they managed.

The angel snorted. “Oh, yes, of course. But God can't do this. These bodies – they need touch. Not all of them, but yours does, and mine. You'll feel much better soon, Aziraphale.”

“I feel wonderful,” Aziraphale murmured, tucking their head into the angel's neck, letting themself be rocked and loved and held.

They sought each other out after that, as often as they could. Aziraphale attended training less and less, and was indeed given up as hopeless by the instructors of the other cherubim. They were told they would be placed at the least important gate, and that was just fine with them.

The angel made stars still, but now Aziraphale sat nearby and watched them, mesmerized by the artistry in the simple, holy act. And when they were done, they joined Aziraphale and they held one another and talked, and told each other their hearts.

Aziraphale confessed when they were afraid they had failed God, and the angel stroked their wings and told them they couldn't fail anyone, that they had been made by God and thus they were perfect. The angel admitted that they wondered about so much, more than any of the host ever talked about or seemed to question.

“Why am I an angel? Why are you a cherubim? Why are you supposed to be better than I am?” they asked.

“I'm not!” Aziraphale said indignantly. “You're...you're the best being I've ever known! I love you!”

_That_ stopped the angel in their tracks.

“...love?” they asked softly.

“Yes, love.” Aziraphale was trembling in fear, but they weren't going to let the angel think for a single moment that Aziraphale ever considered themself better than the angel. And not just because they were a failure. “I love you. I love you so much.”

The angel broke out in a silly grin. “Oh, Aziraphale. I love you too, darling.” They laughed and hugged them. “I think I did from the moment I met you.”

“I was a pathetic heap of corporation when you met me,” Aziraphale protested, laughing.

“You were not! You were beautiful. And you just needed a little help. We all do, they just never give it to us.” The angel frowned, and hugged Aziraphale tightly. “You did just fine after a little practice.”

Aziraphale smiled and buried their face in red curls. They loved the angel's hair, and braided or combed it whenever they liked, which was often. “You healed me. I love you. You talk to me like no one else does. I love you. You taught me what a hug was, and that it was all right to need them. I love you, I love you.”

The angel gave a little shudder. “You should overlook me, but you don't. I love you,” they said, catching Aziraphale's cadence. “You trust me. I love you. You hug me back and you listen and you think I'm important. I love you.”

“Oh, my darling. And I always will.”

They were near inseparable after that. Especially after the time Aziraphale did finally leave them to their work and went exploring in their true form, only to be called back by a great shout, a scream of his name full of fear and pain.

Aziraphale leapt through dimensions to land beside the angel in their corporation (mostly; they might have had a few more eyes than usual still). The angel lay below where they usually worked, moaning and bent over their arm.

“Oh, darling, darling one, shh. Oh my poor dear.” Aziraphale was frantic but tried to hide it. “Let me see. Let me just see, poor angel.” They tenderly took the limb in hand – oh, no. It was terribly broken, no wonder the angel was in pain. They passed a hand over it, resetting the bone and healing it in moments.

“What else?” Aziraphale asked softly, and the angel whimpered, so they checked for themself, healing a badly-bruised hip, a cracked collarbone, and a deeply frightened soul.

“My precious love. I came as fast as I could,” they whispered, gathering the angel close and wrapping them both in their great wings. “What _happened_?”

“I fell,” the angel said, and sniffled away tears. “I'm sorry. You were off doing something very important, I'm sure. The cherubim usually are.”

“I wasn't. And anyway, there's nothing more important than you,” Aziraphale said very firmly. “And don't you forget it.There now, just rest. You had a very nasty scare. Does anything else hurt?”

The angel shook their head, and Aziraphale went back to fussing tenderly, cuddling them close. They had been  _so_ wise when they chose this corporation! It was made to hold and be held, and the angel liked to rest their head on Aziraphale's belly, or their chest, surfaces soft and convex and welcoming.

“I love you,” Aziraphale reminded them. “I'll never stop loving you, my special angel.”

The angel smiled and snuggled in their arms. “I know. Nor I, you. My cherubim.”

Aziraphale giggled, and held them for a good long time, until the pain was but a distant memory, and they had shared their hearts with one another for a long, long time. Neither of them stopped to wonder how an angel could fall, how they could be hurt so badly doing the thing they were made to do.

Of course, when the angel Fell, they did so alone.

Aziraphale's eyes opened and she couldn't stop a little gasp. She went perfectly still, but Crowley still slept on. They even snored a little, which was  _far_ more cute than it had any right to be.

She breathed deeply, and gathered her thoughts.

It had been a dream. Just a dream? Perhaps. Had they known one another in Heaven, truly? It wasn't impossible. She didn't have much memory of those earliest times; everything before the Garden seemed more a memory of a memory anyway.

She closed her eyes and listened to the birdsong, and Crowley's little snores. They were in England, and they were going to plant vegetables. They were in their strange, rambling house, still sleeping in the library, but that was all right.

And they were in love. So utterly, completely, deeply in love. This last thought was what calmed Aziraphale, and let her sit up and smile down at her sleeping demon-love. Crowley's hair was shoulder-length and wavy, not long and curly, though it had been from time to time. Had it been so when they were an angel?

Did it matter?  
Aziraphale tried to put the dream out of her head, instead reading until Crowley woke up. They had their customary snuggle under the covers while Aziraphale lectured them about being lazy and Crowley grumbled that they were just being demonic.

“I love you,” Aziraphale finally said, just before they truly had to get up. That wasn't particularly unusual, but she really very much wanted to say it this morning.

“Love you too, angel.” Crowley yawned and hugged her and buried their face between her breasts for a moment. “Right. I'll make coffee.”

“Thank you, dearest.” Aziraphale smiled and kissed the top of their head. They had much to do, after all – dreams could wait.

They worked side-by-side all morning, the day glorious and sunny. It was almost hot; Aziraphale would have sweated through her shirt without a small miracle, and Crowley simply stripped theirs off and worked bared to the waist, which was an unexpected added treat. Their first garden was going to be an ambitious one, but they put in a good effort.

The hard work helped, but her dream was never far from her thoughts, making her quiet and a little introspective. Crowley had asked if she was all right, and she  _was_ , of course. Only.

“Crowley, dearest?” she asked, when they took a break to sit under a tree and perhaps share a pitcher of lemonade. “I want to ask you something. But I'm afraid it will hurt you terribly. What should I do?”

“Ask me,” Crowley said promptly. “I thought something was on your mind. And I'd always rather you ask, anyway.” They paused, and thought. “And if it does hurt me, I know you'll make it right.”

“I swear it,” Aziraphale said, and took a deep breath. “I. I suppose it's a few questions, really. Crowley, when you were an angel – did you make stars?”

Crowley blinked, and bit their lip. “Yes. I did. How did you know?”

“I...I may have remembered.” Aziraphale told them her dream, all about how she had met a redheaded angel who was gentle and kind and healed her. About how they became friends, and then fell in love. About how she had raced to be at the angel's side, and soothed them. About how they had shared all the secrets of their hearts, all the fears they had about themselves and the future.

“I can't believe I knew you – I _loved_ you – and then forgot,” Aziraphale said, near tears at the very thought. “I couldn't forget you, not ever. But maybe I did?” She wiped her eyes. “Everything I dreamed, that's what you've done for me, a thousand times over. Was I remembering you truly? Or just telling myself a story?” She let out a little sob. “Which is _worse_?”

“Angel, oh, angel. Don't cry over me,” Crowley begged, hauling her into their lap and cuddling her, just as the angel had cuddled a frightened newborn cherubim. “I'm right here. And we'll never be parted, and never forget one another. Only Heaven and Hell could make us do that, and we're safe from them now.”

Aziraphale sniffled and nodded. “I'm sorry, I don't know what's come over me.”

“You had a powerful dream. Maybe a memory. Anyone'd be a little overcome at that,” Crowley comforted. They kissed her, and kissed her again. “I'm not surprised you forgot,” they said, a little bitterly. “What was my name?”

Aziraphale scrubbed at her eyes. “I...I don't know. You told it to me. In the dream, I mean. But it...” she frowned. “I didn't hear it, somehow.”

“It's been wiped from the universe,” Crowley said softly. “No one will ever speak it again. Not God, not Satan, not anybody.”

“Good,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley looked at her in shock. “You named yourself, my love. You're Anthony J. Crowley, and that's the only name that matters.”

Crowley's face broke out in a smile that was indescribable. “Oh, angel.”

Aziraphale nodded firmly, and hugged Crowley so tight their ribs creaked. “It was a beautiful dream. I hope it's true. I hope we knew each other and loved one another. I hope when you fell I healed you and comforted you and stayed with you until you were happy and laughing and knew you were loved. I hope we met when you rescued me from myself. I hope you made the most beautiful stars in the universe, and that I've remembered it, and because I told you the story, now you remember it. I can't imagine both of us existing, and not being  _friends_ , Crowley.”

“Me either,” Crowley whispered, and held her back, just as tightly.

That week was warm and sunny, the first notes of summer, and they went between working in the garden, putting in all the plants Crowley had started, or bought from a nursery, and working on their bedroom. It was tedious and messy, but they were slowly getting the walls down to the lathe. Crowley's hips and back were as good as they ever were, so they could trade off who worked on the ladder and who didn't, keeping a close eye on one another.

They would have worked closely anyway, but Aziraphale's dream had cast a spell over them, and it was better than usual to pause for a kiss, or a little caress. Crowley took her out to a new spot every night, for sushi and French and Italian, for fish and chips eaten by the sea all salt and vinegar and with battered sausages for both of them as well. They were tender with one another, tacitly agreeing that Aziraphale's dream had probably been closer to memory. Agreeing that they couldn't meet and _not_ love one another.

Aziraphale wore her best outfits every night, trading off between suits and pretty summer dresses – one of which was a black and white gingham that showed her  _knees_ to the world, and Crowley almost swallowed their tongue when they saw her in it the first time, and throughout the night thereafter.

“Really dear, you've seen me _naked_ ,” Aziraphale said as she twirled shamelessy and Crowley sat down very fast. She smirked over one shoulder, absolutely enjoying seeing the demon be so undone by the mere existence of her bare legs.

“ _Not_ the same at all,” Crowley drawled, and held their arms open. They buried their face in Aziraphale's belly for a moment, breathing her in, then let her go to pose and be pretty some more. They took pictures, of course, and sent one to Aziraphale's special admirers. Not just Annie; the angel had taken to reducing most of the lesbians in their circle to some combination of dumb silence and quiet screams at Crowley to make her _stop_. 

( _If I could, don't you think I would??_ they had texted back.

_No_ came the reply from fifteen separate people, simultaneously, and Crowley had to admit they were probably right.)

Aziraphale insisted on taking a picture of Crowley in return, resplendent in black and scarlet, looking deadly and sharp and exquisitely in fashion. And beautiful, of course, always so beautiful, especially when they smiled. She sent that out in revenge, and enjoyed reading the texted responses aloud as Crowley drove them to that night's dinner reservation.

It was a lovely Sunday afternoon when they gave themselves a half-day off and settled in the front garden. Aziraphale was in one of her suits, deliciously comfortable in head-to-toe linen, and Crowley had hacked off a pair of jeans at the knee and paired it with a nice, drapey black top that showed off their flat chest. They'd tied their hair back with one of Aziraphale's ascots, and felt their very genderfucky best as they played on their phone in the shade of the a small dogwood.

“Crowley? Aziraphale?”

They looked up, a little surprised – no one here knew them by those names. And while the two of them hadn't exactly barred their children from the house in the country, they also hadn't told anyone where it was, and no one had asked. They wound up where they were needed, anyway, as they had the night that Emily's appendix burst and Aziraphale had sat bolt upright in bed, snapped her fingers, vanished, and Crowley had been left  _very_ confused until they got a text explaining that the angel would be back shortly, she just had to make sure Emily was admitted to hospital and had a blessing to get through surgery with flying colours. And, indeed, she'd been home by breakfast with a report of an excellent prognosis, plenty of friends to help with recovery, and a hug from the poor girl for Crowley.

But here was one of their own, a London lass born and bred. Bee had found her way to the bookshop in college, part of a group of lesbians who had collectively adopted Crowley as their role model. Crowley, of course, adored every second of it, and was only a little annoyed when Aziraphale fully approved as well. They were Crowley's girls, and no matter that they were all graduated from Uni now, they were  _always_ Crowley's girls.

“My dear!” Aziraphale remembered her manners first, and greeted Bee with a smile, standing and going to their front gate. “What on Earth are you doing out here? How are you?”

“My gran lives just down the road, I'm spending the weekend with her.” Bee looked at her feet and smiled, unusually shy. Probably just from meeting outside their usual environs. “You like it here?”

“Of course! And how lovely, it's almost like having you as a neighbour again! Come in and have a cup of tea with us? Crowley, love, go put the kettle on, we're nearly through this pot,” Aziraphale requested as she opened the gate, gesturing for Bee to come into their garden.

“Wait, I should tell you something first,” Bee said quickly.

Crowley joined Aziraphale. “Sure you don't want that cup of tea first?” they asked gently.

Bee shook her head. “I just. It's just.” She took a huge, deep breath. “I know you won't care, I mean, you  _really_ won't care and you'll still, um, I'll still be...me...to you just you should know before anything else.” Another deep breath. “I'm trans. I mean, I'm a boy. Not a girl.”

“Oh my dear!” Aziraphale went to hug her, but stopped when Bee hugged herself first. “Darling, we love you. This doesn't change that.”

“She's right,” Crowley said in a voice so soft only Aziraphale and a very, very young Warlock had heard it before. “What's wrong, dear?”

“I'm not one of your girls anymore!” Bee rubbed his eyes. “It's stupid.”

“It isn't,” Crowley countered. They went through the gate and pulled Bee into their arms. “I _love_ you. You're still mine. Ours.”

“They're right,” Aziraphale said softly, reaching over and stroking Bee's hair. “You can be one of Crowley's girls and be a boy. Or whatever you want to call your little band of terrors. The important bit was _always_ that you were Crowley's. _And_ mine.” She got her arms around both of them and just bled out love as hard as she could. “We're so, so proud of you. This doesn't change anything, darling Bee.” She smiled and kissed Bee's head. “Come in. Have a cup of tea with us, and all will be right in the world again. What should we call you, dearest?”

Bee sniffled and stayed in Crowley's arms, but let them walk him into the garden and sit on a bench. “Bee, for right now. But he/him pronouns.”

“Of course, Bee.” Aziraphale quietly snapped her fingers, and another teacup appeared. She poured out tea from the miraculously-full pot and added a lump of sugar and gave it to the young man with a smile that was reknown throughout Soho for being equally weird and comforting. “There we are. Soon be feeling tip-top again!”

Bee smiled at her and laid his head on Crowley's shoulder. “I do. I mean. I'm sorry I cried. I feel so right, like this. I know you two wouldn't mind, I just. I'm glad I told you. Because it feels so good – to know this, I mean. And live it, and all of that.”

“I'm so happy for you,” Crowley said, and hugged him. “Drink up, though, it's good for you.”

Bee giggled and sipped, drinking in the love and blessing and tender welcome Aziraphale had poured along with the tea.

“Does anyone else know?” she asked, passing around a plate of biscuits. 

“I told the other girls. I mean, I think they'd guessed.” He smiled, still in the circle of Crowley's arms. “They were great, obviously. Happy for me, all that. Saoirse took me shopping, you know she took that job on Savile Row, so she knows her stuff.” Bee's smile grew. “They've been _amazing_ , actually.”

“'Course they have,” Crowley said. “All of you are sensible, smart young things.” They kept their arm around Bee's shoulders, letting him snuggle all he needed.

“What do I do next?” Bee asked. “I don't know anything about this! I'm a straight trans dude with a great wardrobe and...” He laughed. “Help?”

“You do what feels right, when it feels right,” Aziraphale said. “I can send you to some other people who transitioned, they can help. But I think, mostly...you just keep going.” She topped up Bee's tea, another little prayer in this one. “You know what you need, sweetheart. And we'll always be here to help you, too.”

Bee smiled at her. “Okay. Yeah. I got this.” He took a deep breath, and grinned. “Funny, innit? That you moved in just down the road from Gran?”

“A happy coincidence indeed,” Aziraphale agreed innocently. “We're still in London quite a lot too, dear. Don't think you've got rid of us.”

Bee shook his head. “Never. I was never afraid that you wouldn't. Um. Wouldn't love me, or anything like that. It was just the Crowley's Girls thing. And obviously they're my best friends in the world, and I love them, and I love you two and just...” he sighed. “Weird things like that keep coming up, you know? I knew it would be hard to tell people and I'm less safe now, and things like that. It's the unexpected stuff.”

Crowley and Aziraphale had drawn in a little closer when he spoke about being less safe, but they were both smart enough to know he was right. The blessing in the tea would go a long way, at least.

“Always is,” Crowley said, thinking about the early days when he and Aziraphale were first their own side. When they'd tried to have them meet at a secret rendezvous, and realized they didn't need them anymore, they could just tell Aziraphale to meet them at the bandstand and then present her with a picnic.

Bee shrugged. “No way out but through and all.” He laid his head on Crowley's shoulder again, and hugged them around the waist. “I'm really glad I saw you two. And not just 'cause I can see with my own eyes that you exist outside of the city.”

“We've spent more time outside of cities than in them!” Aziraphale protested. “What d'you think of the house?”

“It's...something,” Bee said tactfully.

“We don't know what it is either,” Crowley confirmed.

Bee shrugged. “It's always been the weirdest house in the village. Suits you.”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale agreed, and talk turned to other things then, catching up on mutual friends and chatting about the proms schedule, and which concerts they wanted to see. Bee stayed sat next to Crowley, resting his head on their shoulder from time to time.

All in all, it was a very happy young man who hugged and kissed them both before taking his leave.

“Never forget I love you,” Aziraphale whispered in his ear, and Bee nodded and kissed her cheek.

Crowley whispered something too, but Aziraphale know it was for them and Bee alone. Whatever it was, Bee hugged them tightly before heading back to his gran's with a wave.

The two of them waited until he was well out of earshot before Crowley whooped and Aziraphale scooped them up in a hug and twirled them around.

“He's going to be so happy,” Crowley said, grinning ear-to-ear. “I can feel it.”

“Quite right,” Aziraphale agreed. 

“With that blessing you gave him, he'd better be,” Crowley said. “Cripes, Angel, I got an itchy tongue.”

“You'll survive,” Aziraphale observed. “And it's got nothing to do with my blessing. He's himself, and living as the person he's meant to be. I'm just smoothing the way a bit.” She grinned. “Besides, you're his favourite.”

“Yes. Yes I am,” Crowley bragged. “That's _my_ boy, Principality Aziraphale.” They laughed and dipped the angel to kiss her soundly. 

Aziraphale gave a little shriek and grabbed on, and laughed into the kiss, the garden suffused with their joy. As gardens should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really fuckin love the idea of them meeting and falling in love in Heaven as angels.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: a very brief major character injury. A brief, quickly-corrected ableist comment from a major character.

“Even if this one falls on me too, it'll be worth it,” Aziraphale announced, as she faced down the last section of their hated bedroom wall.

Crowley winced. “Still a little too soon there, angel.”

“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale took their hands in hers, and leaned in for a kiss. A careful one – they were both pretty well covered in plaster dust – but a soft touch to remind Crowley that all was well. “I wasn't hurt even a bit,” she reminded them, and smiled, and was heartened when Crowley smiled back.

“I know. Just. Yeah.”

“We'll talk tonight,” Aziraphale promised, and kissed them again. “Well. Alley-oop!” She gave the wall a mighty whack and, a little to her disappointment, removed the usual bare minimum of plaster.

A sigh, and it was back to work, but the end was fully, finally in sight. They would clean everything up, and then hang drywall like civilized people. The paint would go on easy, and should they ever need to take it down to the studs again, it would not require two solid weeks of work (minus the break in the middle to tend to the garden).

The last bit was freed just before lunch, occasioning a happy whoop from both of them, a run into the village and the new creperie for a treat, and back to work in the garden over the afternoon. Late spring was full upon them, and Crowley was a little behind schedule, but that would be all right. Get what they could done now, and more next year, when the two of them weren't wrangling the house as well, they decided.

While Crowley tended to the new garden beds, scaring off any weeds and scrutinizing who might need to work a bit harder at rooting and putting forth new leaves, Aziraphale shifted and backfilled and resettled the paving-stones that made paths throughout the gardens. Crowley had wanted one of the paths moved to create a little nook just perfect for a bench, one just big enough to hold an angel and a demon, assuming that they didn't mind being half on each others' laps.

Aziraphale worked industriously, hauling the heavy rocks into place. She was stripped to the waist again, although someone had told her about sports bras, and when Crowley found out who, they were going to have  _words_ . 

When Aziraphale called her over for a quick question, Crowley took advantage of the break to openly ogle her. It was, they fancied, a bit like being a cheering section.

“You could take a picture,” Aziraphale offered dryly when she noticed.

“I _could_ ,” Crowley agreed, ogling even more. Aziraphale was standing and twisting at the waist to speak to Crowley, and the folds of her belly were the most beautiful curve they'd ever seen. “Fuck me,” they whispered when Aziraphale shot them a dirty look, squatted down, and lifted one of the sheets of slate. She was going to have to get those trousers re-tailored, the way her thighs flexed against the fabric. All the work had built up her muscles, and Crowley wasn't ever going to get anything done again, were they?

“Really,” Aziraphale huffed. “I think you just like watching me work while you rest.”

“No!” Oh, that wasn't fair at all – just because Crowley's girlfriend was big and butch and strong and warm and gentle and gave great hugs and had a beautiful body and was very strong and could lift heavy things and run up and down ladders with ease. And Crowley...wasn't. Not as _much,_ anyway. They could put in some hard graft too!

“I can help,” they insisted – they really weren't some fainting heroine, for all their dramatics; Crowley was strong enough, and their hips and back were behaving. They went over to the pile of stone and hauled one up, and they even used their knees, not their back, so _there_.

“You've got it?” Aziraphale asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I've got it,” Crowley said, refusing to the let the strain show in their voice. It was heavy, sure, but not _impossible_ , and more importantly it would show Aziraphale a thing or three.

They got the stone over to where the path was marked and, well, they couldn't just  _drop_ the thing. That lacked finesse. It lacked grace. So they squatted down again – at least, that was the plan.

“Fu--” Crowley overbalanced and landed hard on their bum, which was all right in the soft dirt that made the path, and the stone landed hard on their foot, which was not all right. They yelped and flipped the rock off, scooting away from it like it might come back to finish the fight.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was there in seconds, of course. The two of them looked at Crowley's foot, already swelling, their ankle going in a funny direction. 

“Definitely not supposed to do that,” Crowley said weakly.

Aziraphale just shook her head and rested her hand atop a smattering of black scales, soft as anything, and of course Crowley was healed in seconds.

“Oh, my darling,” Aziraphale breathed, and pulled them into a hug. 

“'m sorry,” Crowley mumbled. “I just...never mind.”

“Hush that.” Aziraphale hugged them tighter for a moment. “I'm sorry I wasn't faster. Should have caught the rock. Like you caught me.”

“No! No, it's fine.” Crowley refused to shake or cry or do anything they wanted to do, and they _absolutely_ did not think about how Aziraphale had done this for them before, in a time lost to the Fall. “Didn't have time to hurt.” Which was true enough; it really had only been a few moments. 

“Still.” Aziraphale sighed and pulled back a little so Crowley could see her smile. “On the plus side, you did land it perfectly.”

Crowley looked over and saw that, indeed, the rock was perfectly aligned with the one next to it, and inside the path they'd marked, and all right, they had to laugh at that.

“Guess I'm good for something,” they observed with a smile.

“You're good for _so_ much,” Aziraphale said indignantly. “Or do you have to try to teach me to weed properly again?”

“No,” Crowley said swiftly, remembering the disaster when they'd tried it. 

They smiled at the angel, and cuddled in her arms for a another moment, enjoying all that bare flesh against their body.

“There we are,” Aziraphale said softly. “We've always been useful to each other, right?”

Crowley nodded. “Complemented each other,” they agreed. “Even when I have to be a snake, or stay in bed.”

“Oh, yes, I like that better,” Aziraphale agreed. “I oughten't've said 'useful'.” She paused for a moment. “We have always, through our existence, been _necessary_ for one another,” she finally settled on. “It's not what we do, it's that we...are. That you are. I need you to exist, love. Everything you do lovely and I appreciate it, but I never need any of it. Just...just you existing. And I like to imagine that it's the same for you, with me.”

“Exactly the same,” Crowley said, voice thick. They hugged Aziraphale so tightly, trying not to hurt but needing to _hold_.

“Good,” Aziraphale breathed, and stroked their hair until Crowley could let go a little.

“We don't need to talk about our feelings tonight now, right?” they asked hopefully. They did so hate those talks.

“Oh, goodness no, this is enough for one day. For several days.” Aziraphale made a face. “Let's get absolutely sloshed on red wine and talk bollocks and stargaze. It's been a bloody long day, and it's barely mid-afternoon.”

Crowley laughed and got up, assuring Aziraphale that their foot didn't hurt a bit, everything was healed up perfectly. “I'll be over by the fruit trees if you need me,” they said, holding out a hand to help her up.

“I'll be here. Should get the path reset by dinner,” Aziraphale promised. They kissed, and parted ways, to each do the thing they did best in the garden they shared.

Aziraphale set the last stone in place just as the sun kissed the horizon, and considered her work well done. She should have been faster in protecting Crowley – that was _literally what she was made for_ after all, but it was a lesson well-learned. Watch the demon. Protect them with all your being. And also keep an eye out when they're doing something a bit silly, like lifting a rock that weighs half as much as they do.

She plunged her head under the outdoor spigot and sluiced down her hair and neck and chest, washing away sweat and grime. There was a  _noise_ from Crowley's direction, and she grinned to herself and made sure to get nice and clean and gleaming-wet. She shook her head and scrubbed at her curls, getting them to stand up a bit.

Wet bras were of Hell, so of course she slipped hers off and sauntered over to where Crowley was working, her trousers low on her hips.

“Now you're just doing that on purpose,” Crowley complained.

“Don't see you minding,” Aziraphale noted.

Crowley just sighed and looked very long-suffering, and gave her a rose, a byproduct of ruthless pruning.

“Oh, my dear, it's lovely,” Aziraphale cooed, and slipped it behind her ear. “Thank you. Shall I go pick out some wine? I want to get changed into something clean anyway.”

“Why?” Crowley asked, and grinned at the look they got. “Go, angel. We've earned it.”

Aziraphale leaned in and kissed her, leaving a tiny blessing, easing any soreness from the day of work. She still wasn't absolutely confident she'd healed Crowley's foot entirely, so this would help as well.

“Worrywart,” Crowley accused, resting one hand on her hip. “I love you. Go get comfortable, meet me at the foot of the garden, all right? I'll have a surprise for you.”

“Oooh, what is it!”

“If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise. Thought you were clever, angel.” 

Aziraphale laughed, comforted by the old back-and-forth. It had had whiskers on it back in ancient Rome, but that hadn't ever stopped them before.

She showered in the conservatory – really, they'd have to get a proper bathroom one of these days – and changed into a faded cotton dress. It promised to be a balmy night and anyway she never felt the cold, so only picked out a wrap so she could tuck it around Crowley when they inevitably began to moan about the chilly air.

A little picnic dinner, when it mostly consists of wine, is an easy thing to assemble, though of course one needed a small cheese plate to go along with it, and oh, just a  _dab_ of pat é . It set off the Malbec so nicely! 

Basket loaded up with wine and goodies, Aziraphale took one last look in the glass they'd hung in the front hall. Her hair was utterly unspeakable, but her dress was nice enough, set off by sensible shoes. She regarded herself and snapped her fingers. Tiny diamond studs in her ears, a tennis bracelet, and a pretty gold chain around her neck. Nothing fancy, and of course she kept the rose she'd been gifted.

Aziraphale meandered down to her assigned meeting-place, enjoying the evening air and the way the light had turned purple-blue, and everything looked safe and sleeping. The path she'd fixed was holding well, and she only had another section left to do. Crowley's garden, of course, was already lush and growing. The fruit trees had flowered and filled the air with their brief perfume, and now the heat of summer would bring forth treats, culminating in apples in the autumn.

So Aziraphale took her time, drinking in this moment that would never come again, their first spring in the house. The beginning of everything, really, and she was already half-drunk on flowers and hope and waiting for the coming year when she arrived at paradise.

“Crowley!”

There were fairy lights strung around, and a big picnic blanket covered in pillows, and of course Crowley draped across them, grinning up at her. They wore a dress; not quite matching Aziraphale's, but similar, a simple knee-length knit shift that looked soft and welcoming and perfectly tailored to them, of course. No jewellery, just  _them_ , grinning up at her, and Aziraphale couldn't have asked for anything better. 

“What a pretty treat!” Aziraphale plumped down onto her knees, her dress poufing out, and she poured them each a glass of wine, well-earned.

“Glad you like it, angel. Bit basic, but, well...” Crowley grinned and shrugged.

“It's perfect,” Aziraphale assured them, and held out her glass. “I love you, Crowley. Oh, darling, I love you so.”

“Don't you dare get overwrought even before we start drinking,” Crowley warned. They smiled, though, and touched their glass to Aziraphale's. “To loving you.”

“Oi!”

“Too late, that's what we've toasted, can't change it!” Crowley laughed and moved so they could lounge _and_ wrap an arm around Aziraphale's waist. They bussed her cheek and laughed again when she went pink, and kissed her, and Aziraphale tasted wine on their mouth.

“I'll get you later,” she threatened.

“It's been a day for paying back old gifts hasn't it?” Crowley asked with a smile.

“So it has.” Aziraphale touched their cheek. “You _promise_ me your foot doesn't hurt?”

“I promise, you wonderful thing. You're a good healer.” 

“Learned from the best,” Aziraphale said, and smiled at them. “Every first time we've met, you've been so terribly kind to me.”

“Steady...”

Aziraphale rolled her eyes. “You know, if you're so allergic to being called kind, one wonders why you act the way you do.”

“It irritates you,” Crowley said cheerfully, and kissed her cheek again. “Fuck sake, angel, how can you be so pretty?”

“It irritates you,” Aziraphale said, in a pitch-perfect imitation.

Crowley gave her the most eloquent of looks, which Aziraphale returned with her sweetest smile and a healthy swig of wine.

Crowley made a point of drinking a little faster, attempting to communicate that Aziraphale was _why_ they drank. This entirely failed when halfway into their second glass, they were straddling Aziraphale's lap in a clinch for the ages, and the two of them were snogging like teenagers.

Aziraphale gasped when Crowley dipped their head to bite the soft skin of her neck. Gentle, but just enough force to make it delicious, and she gave a little moan when the demon sucked at the skin. There would be a mark tomorrow, a little like a bruise, and she moaned and tilted her head back as Crowley kissed their way across her throat.

Aziraphale wove her fingers through the demon's hair, tugging in a way that made Crowley's whole body spasm, and took advantage to capture Crowley's mouth with her own, kissing her hard, sucking a little at her lips.

Crowley shuddered again, and Aziraphale kissed her again, her tongue flicking into their mouth, tasting, smiling, dipping her tongue in again and kissing Crowley with all of her. She kept one hand in Crowley's hair and slipped the other one down to rest in the middle of their back, between sharp shoulder blades.

“I love you,” she mouthed, and Crowley must have known because they shook, and held Aziraphale tighter.

“Beautiful,” Aziraphale sighed, placing little kisses across Crowley's cheeks. “How are you so lovely and yet real?”

Crowley groaned and dipped her head, nipping at a bit of pale skin, just where the neckline of Aziraphale's dress began. “Could ask you the same thing. Prettiest angel in the world.”

Aziraphale giggled. “You know it's quite likely I'm the  _only_ angel on Earth right now...”

Crowley gave her a gentle shove, but fell back themself. They refilled their glasses, just to show Aziraphale a thing or two – they could drink instead of make out, if she was going be like  _that_ .

“To you,” Aziraphale said quickly, tapping their glasses together. “To the love of my existence. To the best gardener I'll ever know.”

The compliment took Crowley off-guard, and they were shocked into a smile. “Really?”

“Really,” Aziraphale said, and held her glass for Crowley to sip from. They loved it when Aziraphale shared her food and drink with them, so Aziraphale did, as often as she could without being disgustingly demonstrative. “I mean it, Crowley. Look around us – you've done all of this. We moved in and it was a weed-infested sampler of a place, and you're making it work.”

“You helped!” Crowley argued, although they were still smiling. “Who cleared away all those brambles? And we learned that you _definitely_ need to be the one to set the paving-stones.”

Aziraphale laughed and touched Crowley's knee. “Poor love. Yes, I can be strong and do things, but you're the one with the vision. You're the one that's so happy, and has a place that is perfectly theirs. I can't wait to see what you do next summer, when we're not splitting our time with the house.”

“I have so many ideas,” Crowley admitted. They sipped their wine and looked around them, thoughtful in the blue dark of night, while a few stars wheeled overhead, between the clouds. “The vegetables are in, at least. And some flowers. Goodness knows what we'll get from the trees, but they flowered well enough. I have to put in an herb garden next, give you your lavender and rosemary and the things you like best...” 

“Oh, darling. I have everything I like best,” Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley smiled at her. “Not enough,” they announced loftily. “You don't even have a proper bedroom. And we've got my study all set up, but your library is bare as anything.” They narrowed their eyes at her. “We are doing that next. You need a place that's yours, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale smiled and leaned in for a kiss. “I have the whole house. And my little corner of your study, of course. I'm in no rush, love. We should enjoy the summer while we can.”

Crowley fixed her with a thoughtful look. “Aziraphale, I'm going to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth.”

“Always,” Aziraphale promised. _Our side_ didn't lie to one another. She had lied to Crowley far, far too often over the years.

“Do you promise me, I mean _really_ promise, that you don't mind not having a library here? That you'd be happy working in the garden and the bedroom and I know you want a proper kitchen?” Crowley took her hand, twining their fingers together. “That you really, truly don't mind only having the corner of my study, and this isn't some foolish idea about what you deserve?”

Aziraphale blinked, surprised. “Oh. That's a good question, actually.” She kissed the back of Crowley's fingers, and had a good think. Aziraphale of a year ago, or ten years ago...she perhaps would have thought it  _was_ a fair punishment, for any of a thousand things she'd done wrong. In general, and to Crowley. And it was true that some part of her heart still thought she deserved punishment after she'd yelled to Crowley that they weren't even friends. Speaking words into the world was dangerous, even if they were untrue. Especially if they were untrue. They could become true.

“I haven't forgiven myself for the wrongs I've done,” she finally said bluntly. “I can't imagine that's a surprise to you. But no, this isn't some kind of punishment. I really am...happy. Content.” She smiled at Crowley. “There are so many nooks and crannies in this house I could go days on my own, easily. But I never want to. I mean, I don't want you to...not find me. Not be right there. I want to play in the sunshine and work hard and lift heavy things while you drool all over me. I want a pretty kitchen so we can try to cook and fail and get a takeaway instead. I want a bedroom we can share. My library will wait until the autumn, or longer.” A smile danced across her lips. “Oh, Crowley. How cozy would it be if we _did_ wait until next winter? A fire in the grate, and snow falling while I unpack books. You can sit by the fire under a blanket and grumble at me, and I'll roast us apples and always have tea on hand. Yes! We've got to wait for next winter.”

Crowley laughed and gathered her in for a happy kiss, and then another. “All right, I believe you! We'll do your library last. Or later. Whatever we like.” They coiled a white-gold curl around their forefinger. “And you've got the bookshop still, of course.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale agreed readily. “And my corner of your study, and that little bit of the garden where you can sit under the oak tree, and it makes a kind of chair. And the passageway, and our bedroom, and the sitting room, and so much. I don't need _a_ place to be mine – I have places everywhere in our house. 

She stopped, and blinked, and grinned. “It's  _our_ house, after all, yours and mine, and goodness knows we rattle around in it already, and we've barely touched half of the rooms.”

Crowley laughed, and couldn't disagree. They hauled Aziraphale a little closer, though, one hand curving along her lovely bottom, and kissed her silly under the night sky in the garden they were making beautiful.

Aziraphale was ambivalent about sex, and Crowley downright didn't like it, but that didn't stop them from being sensual beings, which was how Aziraphale wound up on her back (well-supported by pillows,  _obviously_ ), dress hiked up around her hips, and Crowley between her legs kissing her silly. 

She giggled and trailed her fingertips down Crowley's back, feeling their spine under the soft linen. She stopped her hand at the small of Crowley's back – they may not have had much of an arse, but they didn't love being touched there, so Aziraphale didn't. Besides, she could rub her thumb over the muscles of Crowley's back, feel them soften and give, and Crowley sink into her arms a little deeper.

“Delicious,” Crowley declared her, kissing her throat and finding the place under her chin that tickled. A little snake tongue darted out, and Aziraphale giggled. 

“Oh!” She laughed and kissed the edge of Crowley's mouth, and laughed again when the thin, pointed tongue touched her cheek. “Oh, let me see, darling. I don't think I've ever seen your snake tongue like this.”

“It's not that nice,” Crowley warned, drawing out their sibilants, but they darted their tongue out anyway. Aziraphale had provided them with a little extra light, just to help the fairy lights along.

“It's _cute_ ,” Aziraphale informed them, utterly charmed by Crowley's pretty face and darting tongue. She rested a hand on their chest, over their heart, and leaned up to kiss them.

“You're cute,” Crowley observed, and their usual tongue was back, and they put it to good use, kissing Aziraphale deeply.

Aziraphale savoured the slight weight along her body, the way Crowley's hips fit neatly between hers, and the way they sometimes forgot to be sexy and just cuddled adorably against her. Crowley fancied themselves a bit of a Casanova and it wasn't that they  _weren't_ . They were very sexy. They were very good at being beautiful and handsome and alluring. They were also  _adorable as fuck_ , and Aziraphale ate it all up, as she was pretty sure she was the only one that got to see that side of them intentionally.

(Crowley was often soft and sweet and cute as a bug around their children, but it was in unguarded moments, un-thought-about. This intentional wriggling in Aziraphale's arms and a fingertip stroking the chain she wore around her neck, this was all for her, and all of it was intended.)

Aziraphale kissed them and smiled. “You like it?”

“Very pretty,” Crowley said. “Bit plain.”

“I like a bit plain.”

“Aziraphale, I have seen you with a dessert cart. Less than rococo is not in your vocabulary.”

“Oh, honestly,” Aziraphale said, knowing her eye-roll would be visible, possibly from space. “A gal tries a little simple adornment and gets read for it.”

“I didn't say that!” Crowley sounded actually insulted, and Aziraphale laughed and pinched their waist. 

“I know what you meant,” she said. “Calm. I love you. I even know you love me.”

“Well I would _hope_ so,” Crowley grumbled. “We only went and bought the ugliest house on this island together.”

“So we did.” Aziraphale would never get tired of touching Crowley, her fingers wandering here and there. She knew the places to avoid, where Crowley didn't like being touched, but there weren't so many of those, and she found her way to the soft skin at the nape of their neck, where their dress dipped down, and she traced abstract patterns, there among the freckles that were coming up in the sun.

They stayed in the garden until dawn, a little by accident. Both awake, flowing between talking and silence. Nothing of great import was said; they teased each other and made the other laugh, and drank wine now and again. They talked of the garden and the bedroom, the walls ready to go up. They made plans for their next trip to London; none of their children  _needed_ them, but it would be good to visit in happy times and see everyone, and enjoy the city. And Aziraphale daydreamed aloud some more about fixing up the library, nice and snug and her snake cuddled up good and warm, as winter came over them again.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head's up! There's some *very* heavy petting in the first part of this chapter, and Crowley offers (freely and happily) to get Aziraphale off. They don't have sex, though, not in any kind of 'bits rubbing together way', but there's a fair amount of nudity and making out.

They decided that London would be their reward for getting the drywall up in the bedroom. (All talk about plastering straight onto the lathe had finished by about hour forty of them chipping the old plaster away.) The Bentley continued to do only slightly miraculous duty hauling building supplies from places near and far, and Aziraphale got the panels up almost as quickly as they arrived. She tripped lightly up and down the ladder, and Crowley didn't even flinch anymore. Or hardly did so.

Aziraphale asked about it that first night, as they treated themselves to a glass of wine in their great bath. “My dear, question for you,” she started.

“Hmm?” Crowley was having fun floating on the warm, well-salted water. It felt soft, somehow, and cradled them wonderfully. Bugger – hope this wasn't the start of another bad spell with their hips.

“You've rescued me before, and you've even seen me injured before – quite badly, a few times. You never used to be...traumatized.” Aziraphale moved to stand over them, fixing them with a look. “This isn't a complaint. You're to feel exactly what you want to feel. But Crowley, why is this time different?”

“I can show you how frightened I was,” Crowley said, with the thoughtless honesty that had probably got them flung out of heaven.

No getting flung here, though. Instead just Aziraphale making a small 'oh' sound, and her hand coming down to rest on Crowley's cheek for a moment, her thumb caressing their cheekbone.

“This time is different,” Crowley admitted. “You know I always loved you, angel. But it's different, now that I know you return it, that we're...us.” They smiled up at her. “Be a pretty poor side, if I went around letting you fall off of things and land who-knows-how.”

Aziraphale looked horribly guilty, and Crowley blitzed through their memory –

“Oh, hey, no.” They stood up and got their arms around Aziraphale's middle, their bodies sliding together in the warmth, both of them deliciously soaked through. Crowley made a note to particuarly enjoy that in a moment. “What happened to me in the garden was just a mistake, a silly one. It's all right. I didn't even have time for my foot to hurt, I promise.”

Aziraphale's lips thinned. “I believe you. Still.” She shook her head. “I do apologize. One gets into habits.”

“Of blaming oneself?” Crowley slipped a fingertip under her chin and tilted her head up. Oh, their angel. Their beautiful angel, who had scars that ran so deep into her soul, Crowley was pretty sure they might never be healed. Well, so what? They loved her fiercely, all of her, and that meant scars and fears and hesitations, all bundled up with a laugh that could make Crowley happy no matter what, a mind so sharp it could cut light, all the parts of their strong angel.

“Possibly.” Aziraphale snuggled close, head resting on Crowley's shoulder. “I'm sorry you were frightened before, and had to hide it. Never again, all right?”

“Promise,” Crowley said, and meant it. They kissed Aziraphale sweetly, and lay back down on the water, letting it take their body and cradle it while Aziraphale settled herself in a comfortable seat with a book, and everything was homey, comforting sounds.

They worked together on hanging drywall; the niggle in Crowley's hips stayed just that, and they threw themselves into the work with probably more enthusiasm than skill. Then again, the same could be said for Aziraphale. Besides, it would be _their_ bedroom, the centre of all their love and where their gifts for each other lived, where they'd lie awake all night talking, or where Aziraphale would read and Crowley sleep and wake up with their arms around her. So what if a seam showed here and there, or the paint went on a little funny? They'd remember doing it themselves, and that was all that mattered.

“We are _quite_ shit at this, I hope you know,” Aziraphale said, regarding the wall. She tilted her head. “I know the floor is sloped, but not this badly.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Crowley assured her. “We're utter pants. But it's fun.”

Aziraphale had to concede the point. “It  _is_ fun. In parts.”

“It's fun now. And we don't have to take any other walls down, except in the bathroom,” Crowley pointed out. “And the sitting room isn't looking too bad, and that's _way_ worse than in here.”

“Fair.” They also hadn't spent very much time in there, preferring the garden or the conservatory while summer beat down on them, but Crowley wasn't wrong. And it would be nice to have the great room, all warm and cosy, through the winter.

So they got the drywall hung and plastered the seams and rewarded themselves with a holiday.

Aziraphale spent quite a silly amount of time packing what she wanted to wear in London, and taking great pleasure in  _not_ bringing the hard canvas trousers and linen shirts she worked in, her boots firmly put by the wardrobe and a pretty pair of sandals packed instead. Crowley contributed by lounging on the bed and offering colour commentary, and a few genuine requests for a particular pair of earrings or a bottle of perfume.

“Bring the gingham dress,” they begged.

“Oh, but it's so revealing,” Aziraphale said, blushing a bit. “I know it's very flattering, but...”

“It's _very_ flattering,” Crowley assured her.

Aziraphale went even pinker. “All right. Since  _you_ like it so much,” she grumbled, and if Crowley had known that all she needed to wear shockingly short dresses that fell to as much as  _two inches above her knee_ was a cover story, they would have provided one eons ago.

“Oi, we should do the thing. The obnoxious thing!” Crowley sat up, flailing their arms around.

Aziraphale rolled her eyes, and added the gingham dress to her pile for the garment bag, and a pretty pink silk dress Crowley didn't remember seeing before. They craned their head, trying to see where the hemline fell.

“Which obnoxious thing? We do plenty,” Aziraphale said.

“The matching dresses obnoxious thing,” Crowley said, and regarded Aziraphale carefully. She was wearing a shirt-dress in pale blue with simple gold embroidery along the edges of the sleeves and the hem. Crowley snapped their fingers, and they were wearing a dress of the same cut, though in black with red embroidery.

“Oh!” Aziraphale held one hand to her mouth, but not fast enough to hide a smile. Crowley had also cropped their hair short and curly, to match hers. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“Let's see us!” Crowley said and jumped up, coming over to stand beside Aziraphale before the great mirror. They were in stocking feet and thus a little shorter, and had added a crinoline to make up for the whole zero hips thing.

Aziraphale giggled and slipped an arm around Crowley's waist. “I. Oh.” She blinked, and smiled at the them in the mirror. “I don't know how I feel,” she admitted.

“I do. I feel like I love you.” Crowley turned to her and took her hands in theirs. “What's in your heart, Aziraphale?”

“You dramatic old thing,” Aziraphale said, like she hadn't screamed the other day when she'd torn a nail, taking five years off of Crowley's infinite lifespan. She squeezed Crowley's hand. “I love you too. But this isn't you, darling.” She reached up and touched the short-cropped curls. “It's like – look.”

She snapped her fingers and they were in matching outfits again – this time in short skirts and tight, low-cut tops and heels as high as God. And Aziraphale's hair was in a short, chin-length bob.

Crowley's jaw dropped at the vision before them. She was beautiful. She was so beautiful it was  _illegal_ . Aziraphale would literally start a war if she went outside dressed like this, Crowley was absolutely certain of it. There was cream fabric and silver sequins and Crowley looked down quickly to see – oh, how sweet. Black and gold sequins for them, to match, and a haircut too.

“Wharrrgarbl,” Crowley said, looking at Aziraphale again. She was so beautiful, but it also...wasn't her. Not at all, and Crowley got it.

“Yeah,” they managed faintly. “It isn't you.” They leaned in and kissed her softly. “But fuck, I picked the most beautiful person to ever exist to fall in love with.”

“Handsome is as handsome does,” Aziraphale observed primly, but she was smiling, small and satisfied. “If we do this, we have to meet in the middle, love.” She snapped again, and restored their original outfits, and snuggled into Crowley's arms with a sigh.

“Agreed.” Crowley stroked her back, closing their eyes to cradle the plush body. Aziraphale was deliciously soft, and Crowley would get to fall asleep with her tonight, head pillowed on her chest, and arms around a tummy made for cuddling.

Aziraphale took enough time about everything that Crowley opened a bottle of wine and they toasted one another in the twilight. She had tried on a few things to make sure they fit with her slightly-changed corporation, grown a little more muscled with all the work. She had not then bothered to put on anything over her bra and knickers and sheer slip, and goodness knew  _Crowley_ wasn't about to suggest anything. 

At long last, after finally deciding to add a pearl choker and matching earrings to the pile, Aziraphale declared herself packed for up to a week in one of the fashion capitals of the world where she could duck out and buy a dress or a suit from any era she liked. Crowley just held out one arm and snuggled her close, loving their way her soft body fit against theirs, and that she came to bed so readily and rested her head on Crowley's shoulder like she was in the best, safest spot in the world. Mind, to be fair, she _was_.

Crowley held their glass so Aziraphale could sip from it, the wine dyeing her lips crimson until Crowley kissed it off.

“You old romantic,” Aziraphale teased softly.

Crowley just smiled and set their glass aside so they could caress Aziraphale. They rubbed the swell of muscle and fat on her arm, touched the dimples of her elbows. They followed the curve of her waist and caressed the round slope of her belly with their thumb, her skin wonderfully warm, the slip providing exactly zero barrier. Moving slowly and carefully, they cupped one of her breasts, a perfect little handful in the simple white satin brassiere.

“Is this okay?” Crowley checked in. They had gotten fresh with each other before, but it never hurt to make sure they weren't teasing, or pushing too many boundaries.

“That's fine,” Aziraphale assured them, and kissed their cheek. “I like that you like my breasts.”

“I _love_ your breasts,” Crowley said. “Don't mistake my asexuality for...for not caring. For not appreciating and loving or anything like that.”

Aziraphale's face softened. “Oh my dear. I never have. I love your breasts – your chest – too, after all. And every other part of you.”

Crowley smiled, feeling understood and too full of it to say anything. They leaned down and kissed the lacy edge of the bra, and then between Aziraphale's breasts, where her heart beat.

“Oh _darling_ ,” Aziraphale breathed. “Being loved by you is like nothing else in the universe.” She slipped a finger under Crowley's chin and tilted their head up for a long kiss, and quietly vowed to herself to do something really special for her darling one. Not a picnic, not lunch at the Ritz, or anything like that, but something magical and special and perfectly for Crowley, so they'd know how loved they were. It might take a bit of planning, since she hadn't the faintest damn idea what could be big enough to show her love, but she'd do it.

They kissed softly, and sipped deeply of wine, and Crowley touched Aziraphale some more; laid her out on the bed and caressed her belly and massaged her thighs, kissed her breasts and her feet and her hands. Aziraphale tried to return touch for touch, careful of Crowley's body, and apologizing when her hand slipped and Crowley moved and she brushed over the curve of their bottom.

“S'alright. I know you didn't mean to,” Crowley assured her, and kissed her again, and Aziraphale was comforted that she hadn't harmed her dear one. 

She rested her hand on the back of Crowley's leg, just above their knee. “Is that all right?” she asked gently, and Crowley nodded, and kissed along the wide, soft expanse of her chest, just below her collarbone. 

Aziraphale savoured the tension and release of the muscles under her hand. She tried to concentrate enough to caress back, and kiss, until Crowley so overcame her that she could only lie back and  _feel_ . 

Crowley's hands were warm and strong, measuring out her body, squeezing her hips and rubbing her tummy. They fed her wine and kisses in equal measure, and kissed her face and her hair, and then her neck. They kissed her breasts through the sheer fabric that did absolutely nothing to baffle the sensation, and, after checking in, kissed one of her nipples, through the slip and the soft satin of her bra. They nuzzled her tummy and slid their hands around her, holding and caressing her back and Aziraphale made an aborted movement to touch their waist or their leg or their arm or something, anything, to return this incredible sensation.

“Shhh,” Crowley whispered. “It's all right. Just lie there and let me worship you.”

And Aziraphale did, feeling borne up on soft clouds, feeling cradled and cared for. Feeling, above all else,  _loved_ . Feeling something heal inside of her as Crowley kissed nearly every inch of her body.

“Do you want...” A soft whisper in her ear. Crowley's hand was on her thigh. “I can touch you between your legs.”

Aziraphale shook her head. “No. But thank you, love.”

“Of course.” A kiss, and Aziraphale sunk back into that soft place where she wasn't even sure she was still on Earth, but she was definitely in her body and waves of joy spread through her. So this was what it was to be cherished.

When she blinked her eyes open, it was morning, and birds were singing and sunlight flowed into the library and kissed hers and Crowley's feet. Crowley was fast asleep, mouth open a little, and head pillowed on Aziraphale's chest.

Aziraphale smiled at them, and didn't move. They ought to sleep in a little, after all. Traffic really never mattered to Crowley, so it wasn't like they had to leave for London anytime in particular.

Eventually, Crowley woke slow and sweet and precious, rubbing their eyes and groping for a kiss even before they were really awake.

“Everything good?” they asked from the comfort of Aziraphale's arms. “You sort of, uh. Passed out?”

Aziraphale laughed. “From pure pleasure. Thank you, Crowley, from the bottom of my heart.” She stroked her darling's hair. “Last night healed something in me.”

Crowley looked fierce, and kissed her. “Good.” A happy wriggle, and a long hug, and it was time to get up and have a cup of coffee because that's what they did even if they didn't need caffeine, and then it was off to London.

They made good time, because Crowley always made good time, and the bookshop was a welcome sight. Aziraphale let them in and just stood and breathed for a moment. The acid-vanilla smell of old books, the comfort of a place that was her and wholly hers around them again. For all that Crowley lived there with her now, it was still her place.

She opened her eyes and gave a happy wiggle, watching Crowley put on the kettle. They knew every inch of the place too, a thing that always heartened Aziraphale. They even knew what it was to not have the bookshop.

The memory did make her frown a little. She would give anything to trade that knowledge with Crowley. To make it so they were never in the burning shop, Aziraphale gone from the universe. Aziraphale fancied she might even handle it better than her poor demon;  _she_ knew she was right there.

Then she remembered how she had reacted to a request for a little insurance. How she'd leapt to deciding it was a suicide pill, because that's the only reason she would have ever asked for hellfire. Maybe she wouldn't have done so well, losing the things she loved best in the world – her books, of course, but if she hadn't found Crowley in the world...

Enough maundering. Aziraphale carried her things up to the little bedroom and opened some windows to air it out, gave herself a good shake while she was at it, and was happy again when she went back downstairs to a cup of tea and a biscuit, and a kiss of course.

“Thank you, dear,” she said, and smiled a little when the old endearment still made Crowley stumble. She caught them easily, and kissed them again, soft and sweet, still glowing from the night before. “Crowley? Did we have sex last night?”

Crowley shrugged. “Enh. Do you want to say we did?”

Aziraphale considered this. “I don't much care. But something really special happened, right? For you too?”

“Oh, angel.” Crowley's face was so _soft_. “Yeah. Something really, really special happened.” They touched her cheek. “I can't put it into words, you know how I'm shit at that--”

“Hush. I understand,” Aziraphale assured them.

They settled down, quiet and absorbing the smells and sounds of London into themselves once again. Their peace was short-lived though, and the first of their children soon arrived.

“Hey – I got your text.” Emily came straight to the back of the shop, although she was usually a browser. Aziraphale had met her when she had literally tripped over the girl an hour after closing; Emily had grown so absorbed in a book and was so quiet and petite she was easily overlooked. She never wanted to buy anything, though, and she was cheerfully, openly bisexual, so of course Aziraphale adopted her immediately.

“My dear!” Aziraphale rose quickly and embraced her. “You look wonderful.”

“I'd hope so, considering my state the last time you saw me.” She wrapped her arms around Aziraphale's shoulders and hugged her tightly. “Thank you again.”

“Oh, it was nothing --”

“No, thank you. They said – well, it's likely you saved my life that night,” she said in a rush. “Turns out I might not need my appendix, but I also definitely need it all in one piece.”

“Then I'm doubly glad,” Aziraphale said, as though she would have let any harm come to her dear one. “Can you join us for a cup of tea?”

“Yes, please!” Emily smiled shyly at Crowley. She didn't know them as well, and was a little bashful around them still.

“Hullo there,” Crowley said, trying to look nonthreatening. It worked, just not maybe in the way they intended. Crowley in general was about as threatening as a pea plant. Crowley _trying_ to be nonthreatening was...well, a little hilarious, not that Aziraphale would ever tell them that in so many words.

This problem was helped considerably when some minutes later a tangle of twenty-somethings, formerly known as Crowley's girls, tumbled through the shop door.

“You're home!” Saoirse screeched, and flung herself at Aziraphale. “I have to take you shopping!”

“ _Mom_ ,” Ellie yelled, flinging herself at Crowley. “Or, uh, gender-neutral parent?”

“Neither,” Crowley said dryly, before hugging her and making sure she had enough money for groceries and pouring her a cup of tea.

“Yeah bitches, I saw them the other day!” Bee yelped, gathering hugs from both of them and flinging himself down on a sofa.

“We're all _feral_!” Ava joined in, flopping at Bee's feet. “Hi guys. Miss us?”

“Not especially, now that you mention it,” Aziraphale said.

“With all my heart,” Crowley said. “Now – I don't think you've met Emily yet. She's house-trained, unlike you lot, so be nice.”

Emily, who had seemingly attempted to become a sofa cushion, waved tentatively at the cloud of yelling people.

That's when it happened. Later, everyone in the room would be able to tell the story perfectly. Bee looked to his right, Emily to her left, and their eyes locked.

Aziraphale was genuinely tempted to wave a hand between them, and quickly gave Crowley a glare so they  _definitely_ wouldn't get up and do just that.

“Hi,” Bee said softly. “I'm sorry. We're...a lot. I'm Bee. Uh. He and him.”

Emily smiled at him. “Hey, it's all right. Honest. I'm. Yeah. Um. I'm Emily. She and her.”

Bee reached out, and so did Emily, but they didn't quite shake hands. Just clasped each others' hand while Saoirse quietly did a victory dance and Crowley, sat where Bee could see them and Emily couldn't, gave Bee two thumbs up and mouthed 'you go boy' at him.

“I'm Ava, she/her,” Ava said dryly, after a rather long silence. “Saoirse and Ellie, same pronouns as me.”

“Oh. Oh! Hi.” Emily smiled at everyone, her hand still in Bee's. “Sorry, I'm usually not such a dip.”

“You're not a dip,” Bee and Aziraphale said together.

“I'm a dip,” Emily assured them, and giggled. “I've been home alone for too long. Getting over some surgery.”

“Oh,” Bee breathed. “Oh, no, that's awful. Are you all right now?”

“Perfectly fine,” Emily said. “Just a little under-socialised.”

“We can help with that,” Ellie offered, when Bee seemed beyond speech as a result of Emily looking into his eyes and smiling just at him.

“Unh. Uh. Yeah.” Bee shook himself, and smiled. “More tea?”

“Kettle's in the usual spot,” Aziraphale said cheerfully. If Bee was going to be a slave to love, she could exploit him and not feel a bit sorry. She knew the sensation pretty well, after all.

Bee ducked his head and grinned, and dropped a kiss atop Aziraphale's head as he headed for the kitchenette. Emily looked slightly lost for a moment, until Ava tactfully asked after Crowley's garden, and the shop found an equilibrium with cheerful gossip and chatter and catching-up and revealing of life's little woes and joys.

For all their chaos, Crowley's gang of followers were kind and welcoming. They drew Emily into the conversation, quickly shaking her down for every detail of her life, and openly and easily sharing all of theirs.

(“Surprise, I'm trans,” Bee said drily at one point, and Emily just laughed and hugged him and Crowley honestly worried about his heart rate, considering the look on his face.)

Aziraphale mostly let the others take over, not least because she wanted to sit outside of things, and watch, and see what actions might need to be taken. Ellie had trouble eating properly sometimes, but she looked bright-eyed and healthy, and there was a glow of calm around her, so Aziraphale didn't feel a need for anything but a generalized blessing. Same for Emily – she was telling the truth when she said she was fine. Aziraphale could sense the fresh scar on her belly, but it was healed and would fade away to almost nothing, given time. Also the overwhelming cloud of very new, very intense infatuation between her and Bee. That could  _definitely_ become something, and Aziraphale gave them both a hint of blessing. Bee was cheerful and well, thank God, comfortable in his body, happily in crush, surrounded by people who loved him.

Ava, who wore long sleeves to hide the scars on her arms, was loud and happy and felt warm and good. She had been plucked from the floor to Crowley's lap, so the two of them could flop around and twist their lanky forms into impossible shapes and also Crowley could get a cuddle in and and check on her themself, so Aziraphale left any blessings to them. They could compare notes later, but generally she seemed all right. Finally, Saoirse, tired from working too hard, poor girl. Aziraphale would go shopping with her, and then take her out for a sturdy meal and listen to her heart; sometimes a beloved one just needed a little one-on-one angelic time.

Aziraphale felt the swirls of the room, like dipping her fingers into a stream. There was a little note of discord, and she frowned, and followed it to – oh, Crowley, love. 

Their hips were  _not_ supposed to do that. It wasn't very bad, and with luck would stay just a soft ache in the background, but what Aziraphale wouldn't  _do_ to be able to help. She'd tried, over and over, but Crowley's body was determined to be in pain, their joints to not do as they ought, and nothing the angel could do changed anything. 

Well, they would mostly be staying in the shop anyway, and there was the Bentley or a walking stick or crutches if they wanted to go out together. Aziraphale would keep an eye on them, and perhaps this was good timing, really – Crowley's heart would hurt, to be kept from working in their garden, or to be limited in what they could do with the house. Nothing was stopping them from doing as they liked best in London. (Particularly one when one had an angel who enjoyed reconfiguring architectural features to be accessible.)

Still, that was just a small run of notes, in a whole symphony of joy – and quite a lot of that was coming from Crowley, adoring her particular children, winning Emily over, being charming and sarcastic and wickedly funny. They were so  _happy_ , so incandescently happy, and Aziraphale let it pull her back into the group, ground her and let her join in the conversations again.

“Everything okay?” Crowley asked, on their way to get something or other.

“Perfect. I love you.” Aziraphale kissed the back of their hand where it rested on her shoulder.

“Good girl.” Crowley chucked her a little under her chin, and wandered off to one of their odd stashes of this and that around the shop.

The afternoon wore on, and Crowley's tribe eventually excused themselves. “We're going out shopping for Ava's new place, then to dinner, want to come?” Ellie invited Emily. “Nothing fancy.”

“Yeah! Of course.” Emily laughed. “If you're sure?”

“We're sure,” Ava said firmly. “Please, Em. Join us?”

“If you're up to it,” Bee said worriedly. He touched her shoulder. “Are you sure you feel better? You were in hospital not that long ago...”

“Oh, you're so sweet.” Emily, who was smart and didn't give up an opening when it was offered, leaned over so her head rested on Bee's shoulder for a moment. “I'm a farm girl from the Black Country, going to take a lot more to take me out.”

“That's the spirit,” Ava said gleefully. “You're no more house-trained than we are. Crowley, we're adopting her.”

Crowley grinned, and traced a nonsense pattern in the air with two fingers. “So it is done. Sorry lass. You're doomed now.”

“If this is damnation, I'll take it,” Emily said, now fully snuggled in Bee's arms. Aziraphale made a mental note to text her later so they could properly celebrate. She knew _exactly_ how Emily felt.

The bundle of youths tumbled out of the door after doing their dishes, now one greater in number. Bee was holding her hand tightly and the two of them were smiling at one another and looking ridiculously lovesick.

“It's not that I'm not happy for them,” Crowley said as they came back from closing the door behind them all and slipping Ava a little cash to buy something nice for the new place. “But we're stomach-turning enough as it is. The two of them are going to be _unbearable_.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Aziraphale said. “Poor kids. The others, I mean.” She grinned and held out her arms. “Come and be unbearable with me, please.”

Crowley didn't have to be asked twice to slip into Aziraphale's lap, settling in, one hand on her belly. In turn, Aziraphale rested a soft hand on their hip.

“Sorry to eavesdrop on your body, darling, but I felt what was up here. We can order in tonight, if you don't want to go far?”

Crowley shook their head. “No, I want to go out. It's not bad, angel, honest. I mean, yes, I can feel my hips, but walking is fine and everything.”

“Fair enough.” Aziraphale touched their chin, tilting their head up for a little kiss. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” Crowley was very content to get some cuddle time in, it seemed. Well, they _were_ on holiday, and no one else had planned to come over that day, so they could take some time just for canoodling. And Crowley did need ever so much kissing and petting, and being told how loved they were, and really, it was best that Aziraphale get started on that right away, and not stop until her demon was laughing and sweet and pliant in her arms.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head's up: they have a pretty explicit conversation about genitals (or lack thereof), but no touching, and it's deeply asexual :)

They went out to dinner that night, as Crowley had insisted. To celebrate their return to London, the both of them were in  _high_ form. Crowley had worn a slinky dress that simply  _screamed_ words like 'expensive' and 'couture' and 'you wish you could have some of this jelly but I'm with  _her_ '. They wore heels that would make Violet Chachki weep, red soles slashing through the patent leather darkness of the upper. Pure sex on wheels, they were, which was funny since they were definitively sexless.

Crowley lounged on the bed while Aziraphale got ready. The pink silk dress had made an appearance, and she was even showing a hint of cleavage, the soft curves of her breasts cradled first in a bra that was mostly lace and expensive, then the lovely tailoring of the dress.

Crowley kicked a leg up to stretch, popped her hip, and sighed at the release of pressure. “Oooh, nice.”

Aziraphale laughed and came over. “Other one,” she said, and helped Crowley pop that joint too, and patted their thigh. “Good love.”

She looked down and grinned. “I adore you. Crowley, the point of not wearing knickers is to give someone a  _show_ , even  _I_ know that.” For Crowley, of course, had skipped underwear, a fact that was pretty obvious with their legs going every which way.

“I'm not a show?” Crowley asked, mock-injured. They hiked their dress up and admired the smooth skin between their legs. Not even pubic hair; they were sexless and all the genders and very proud of it.

“You're a whole fucking operatic season,” Aziraphale assured them, while Crowley actually startled at her rare profanity. “I just think you're very sweet, too. Without your knickers.”

“You're wearing knickers,” Crowley pointed out. They had seen them. They were silky and lacy and had a heart-shaped cutout over the top of Aziraphale's bum.

“Yes, they're very comfortable,” Aziraphale agreed, going over to her mirror to put on a bit of mascara. “Is a pink lip too twee on me?”

“No, it suits your colouring.” Crowley rolled over onto their tummy, propping their chin up on their hands. “Wait, so does that mean that you gave yourself genitals?”

“Of course, dearest.” Aziraphale grinned over her shoulder. “Crowley, in all the time you've known me, have you ever seen me do anything _halfway_?”

Crowley laughed, and admitted truth. “You'd think I would have noticed, as much time as we spend in the bath together.”

“Well, my tum and the pubic hair rather cover everything nicely, especially if I'm sitting. Why, do you want to see?” Aziraphale asked.

“Well – yes. Please?” Crowley moved over to make room on the bed. “I'm curious.”

“I honestly thought you knew. You as much as offered to rub one out the other day for me,” Aziraphale said. She slipped her knickers off and lay down, pulling her skirt up and spreading her legs for Crowley to see.

“Well, I figured the psychology of it would be nice.” Crowley paused. “Did I overstep? When I asked that?”

“Oh, love.” Aziraphale took their hand. “You didn't, I promise. I didn't want to be petted there, is all. You did everything absolutely perfectly.”

Crowley glowed at the praise. “I did, didn't I?” they observed, and leaned over to get a good look at their beloved.

Aziraphale was all shades of pink here, too, fluttery and soft and sweet-looking. Crowley wasn't surprised at all, and they kissed the inside of one knee. “Very beautiful, sweetheart. Thank you for letting me see.”

Aziraphale giggled and sat up, and pulled Crowley in for a little kiss. “Of course, darling. Anytime.” She got her knickers back on, added a dash of lipstick, stepped into shoes that were very pretty and about a thousand times more sensible than Crowley's, and gave a little twirl. “Am I up to standard?”

Crowley's mouth suddenly went dry. This carefree (at the moment at least) beauty was  _their_ girlfriend. Wife. Beloved. Whatever. She had chosen Crowley, and Crowley had chosen her, over and over again. She was pretty and bitchy and already fussing with her hair, turning the pretty curls into a little cloud of fluff. Her biceps stood out when she moved her arms, and then they settled back into plump softness. She would be a sparkling dining companion, telling Crowley some fascinating new thing, adding to the store of knowledge they never stopped hungering after. Crowley could ask her for a hug and get a dozen, and give her a kiss anytime they liked. Hah. Find that stunned baby demon on the wall of Eden, the virginal snake who had just introduced Original Sin to humanity, and tell them that the anxious, beautiful creature next to them would someday be their heart that walked around outside of their body. See how  _that_ would go over.

“Yeah,” they croaked. “You'll do.”

Aziraphale beamed at them. “Good. Don't want it to look like you're slumming it, and all.”

“Never,” Crowley said, after a few swallows to get their face and voice working again. “C'mon. We'll be late if you keep talking.” They rose and offered their arm, an elegant slash against a collection of curves made into a person that would make any artist weep, and they went to dinner together in style, from the nose of the Bentley to the top of Crowley's beautifully-coiffed head.

The next day was quieter, and Aziraphale was grateful for it. A few friends trickling in and out, some just to say hello before running off to leave her to a bit of inventorying. She was going to have to start deciding what to keep here and what to bring with her. There were a few paperbacks that obviously belonged to the shop, but the rest was – well, it was her personal collection,  _really_ .

She was debating between which editions of  _The Lord of the Rings_ to set aside and ignoring Crowley's colour commentary, when Aelis and Annie dropped by.

“We're not really here,” Annie said, going straight into her arms for a hug. “Mum's in town and we're going to take her someplace nice and nonthreatening for a matinee.”

Aziraphale laughed and kissed her cheek. “Good girls.”

Aelis rolled her eyes. “It's fine.” She settled herself by Crowley for a moment and snuggled into a hug. They'd texted back and forth a bit, Crowley asking for advice on the whole crutches thing. It had more or less immediately turned into both of them gossiping shit about everyone they both knew.

“How are you?” Crowley asked, nodding to the both of them.

“Better than the last time you saw me,” Annie assured them, and giggled when Aziraphale gave her a tight squeeze.

“About the same,” Aelis said with a shrug and a smile. “How are the two of you? Aziraphale, you look absolutely dashing.”

“Oh! Oh, goodness, thank you.” Aziraphale blushed prettily, and Annie looked like she was going to have a stroke.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Crowled asked the woman in their arms.

“You're not as cute when you're complimented,” Aelis told them frankly.

“Eh. Can't argue with that,” Crowley agreed, and rested their chin on her shoulder, enjoying watching their girlfriends sort of lose their shit on each other. “You two all right, then? You had some heavy stuff to talk about.”

“We're good. She's it, you know,” Aelis murmured softly. “She's the one for me, Crowley. I know it's early days, but she _is_.”

“I can see it,” Crowley agreed, just as quietly. “That was a practical question too, doll. Do either of you need anything?”

“More cheesecake photos of Aziraphale?” Aelis winked. “No, darling. We're fine for money. I'm not any better, mobility-wise, but I'm not any worse, either. Annie's the happiest I've ever seen her.”

“You know where to come if that changes and we can help,” Crowley instructed. “And I'll try for more sexy photos.”

“Get her to take some of you, too,” Aelis said. “I mean it. You're cute,” she told the Serpent of Eden, pinching their cheek.

“Shut _up_ ,” Crowley observed, but well. If she wanted pictures of them, Crowley'd oblige. It was nice to be able to share their life in the country, anyway.

Annie came to collect her girlfriend and a kiss from Crowley, while Aziraphale got a quick hug from Aelis in turn.

“I'm sorry, dear heart. We'll catch up next time,” she promised, and helped Aelis up.

“It's a date,” Aelis promised, and the two young women left the shop happily, ready to face a few hours of extremely okay West End theatre and out-of-town parentage.

“Good Heavens, it's like relationships are catching,” Aziraphale commented, as soon as the door closed behind them. “Is it us, d'you think?”

“No,” Crowley said honestly. “It's _humans_. You just notice it more now, dear.” They pecked her cheek. “Are we no longer at home?'

Aziraphale smiled. “No one else is scheduled. I think we can take some time for us, darling.” She wrapped her arms around Crowley's waist, going into the comfort of them with a deep sigh. “I do love everyone. But nothing's like just us.”

“No one's like us,” Crowley pointed out, but they stroked Aziraphale's hair and kissed her forehead, and fussed a little. Being a Principality took some work, sometimes. Luckily being a Principality's best friend and beloved and occasional caretaker was no burden at all.

Aziraphale really did look a bit tired, Crowley fancied, and their hips were still deciding how bad this bout was going to be, so dinner was ordered in, wine opened, and the two of them settled in their accustomed spot in the back room of the bookshop to get gloriously tipsy and talk utter shite together.

“No, no no no no, y're not _listening_ ,” Crowley insisted. “Octo...octo...podes?” They guessed at the proper plural ending.

Aziraphale shook her head. “Octopus. 's plural and singular.”

“Well that's annoying,” Crowley commented. “Anyway. My point _is_. Aliens.”

“Yes, dear?” Aziraphale took another sip of wine. Crowley was a good two glasses ahead of her, and this was better than vaudeville.

“ _They're aliens_ ,” Crowley insisted. “Octopuseses. Aliens.”

“Crowley, there isn't any such thing as aliens, you know that,” Aziraphale said patiently. “God rather hung up her boots when she got done with Adam and Eve.” She regarded her wineglass, and decided that now was not the time for a religious crisis _vis-a-vis_ when God had stopped checking her voicemail, so to speak. “No aliens. So octopus aren't aliens.”

“ _Newt_!” Crowley gestured grandly. “Newt's seen aliens! Talked to 'em even!!”

“Darling, Adam created them,” Aziraphale said in a soothing tone. “Like the kraken. Gone now.” She thought for a moment. “Pretty sure. Right?”

“We'll ask him tomorrow,” Crowley said. “When you un-hide my phone.”

(They had learned the hard way that when Crowley got drunk, it was best they didn't have access to Twitter, text messages, or the internet in general. Aziraphale had a special blessed box that had probably once held the Host, and it ensured that they still had friends and also didn't have to work miracles to get various governmental agencies to look the other way every time Crowley went on a bender.)

Aziraphale waved her hand in acknowledgement, and topped up her glass. “Going  _back_ to the point,” she said.

“Aliens!” Crowley yelped.

“Not aliens, darling,” Aziraphale noted. “Going back to my _original_ point, we really ought to try that new Greek place while we're here, they do a splendid calamari.”

“'s squid,” Crowley said, squinting a little. “Not octopus.”

“Quite right,” Aziraphale said.

“I'm not so drunk you can condescend to me,” Crowley pointed out. “Bottom's up!” And they drained their glass and held it out for more.

Aziraphale obliged, of course. “Crowley, I hate to tell you this, but I condescend to you when you're sober, too.”

“An' very charming about it you are,” Crowley slurred. “Greek. Right. Yes. We'll go tomorrow.” They slapped the small table covered in bottles and books. “Dinner! For my angel.”

Aziraphale smiled the demure smile of an angel who had gotten her way. “You do spoil me so, darling.”

“Don't. 'S fun watchin' you eat and have...fun,” Crowley decided. “Like takin' you out. Wear the short dress? Show off your gams.”

Aziraphale rolled her eyes. “For an asexual being, you're awfully cheeky.”

“I can appreciate your body,” Crowley said with great dignity. “Ass...assth...aesthecic...it's _pretty_ ,” they settled on.

“And you're very pretty too,” Aziraphale said with equal dignity. Possibly she was becoming a bit shnockered, but Crowley was ahead of her, so that was all right. “That's what we ought to do someday. Just...sit around naked and admire each other,” she said.

“ _Genius_!” Crowley yelled to the world, and fell off of the sofa.

It was, Aziraphale reflected, certainly for the best that she could make hangovers go away. Especially when the two of them had been too drunk to sober up the night before and had instead somehow dragged each other upstairs to collapse in bed. Aziraphale woke up wearing knickers, a dressing gown, and a heavy diamond necklace she didn't even remember owning. Her bra was across the room on top of a lamp, and she had a fuzzy memory that her dress might actually be on the stairs. The state of her head wasn't worth thinking about, and she groaned, snapped her fingers, and well, it wasn't like she'd ever had an orgasm to compare, but the relief could  _definitely_ be described as orgasmic.

She'd taken care of Crowley (wearing one sock and a t-shirt, bless them) at the same time, but they slept on, narrow arse in the air and looking adorable as could be. Aziraphale got them tucked under the covers nice and snug, sorted out what she was wearing into simply the dressing-gown, and settled back with a cup of tea and a book. No one was expected that day, and she thought idly of going for a walk in one of their usual haunts, and then possibly a stop at the V&A to take in the sculpture hall there. The works were old friends by now, and it would be good to see them again, Crowley in tow and making sly comments under their breath so that Aziraphale had to stifle her giggles.

She smiled at her sweetheart, snuggled so nicely under the covers, and petted their hair. This little break in the city was just the thing for them.

Crowley woke just about an hour later with a stretch and a groan. They rolled over, faceplanted in Aziraphale's lap, and made a noise.

Aziraphale laughed and scritched their hair. “Hush, you. I took care of your hangover already. You're welcome.”

“Gnarrrrrr.” Crowley stretched again, sat up, took Aziraphale's tea and helped themself to a sip, and settled down again, this time hugging Aziraphale's legs and pillowing their head on her lap. There was a lot of pillow there, Aziraphale observed, rather proudly.

“Poor darling,” she said in a perfectly deadpan voice.

Crowley blinked and smacked their lips and gave a full-body shiver, then rolled and turned their body in such a way that Aziraphale could see them smile. She was pretty sure hips and backs didn't bend that way, but that had never stopped Crowley before.

“I'm up,” they announced, not moving an inch.

“So I see.” Aziraphale set her book aside and slid down the bed, embracing Crowley and being embraced in turn. A good snog session was always nice to start the day off, so they did, holding each other close and trading long, lingering kisses. Sometimes they got very creative, but today Aziraphale just wanted to go back to Crowley's mouth again and again, tasting them and sharing this incredible intimacy.

Crowley returned each kiss with ardour, with sweetness, with a quiet that was rarely seen, and ended by kissing over Aziraphale's eyes, one-two, and making her giggle.

“Plans for today, angel?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale shrugged. “No one is coming by. Thought we might go for a walk? Go out and see London a bit, anyway.”

Crowley nodded. “Want company?”

“Yours? Always,” Aziraphale said. “If you've got something planned, though...”

Crowley shook their head. “Nah, 'm a free agent. Just.” They made a face. “Hips and all. You know how it is.”

“Oh, darling,” Aziraphale said sympathetically. “Is it very bad? You can go snake, you know. I'll even take you around with me, if you promise not to scare the public.”

Crowley made a whining sound. “You're no fun at all.” And then, more seriously, “No, it's not bad. Like when you work a muscle too hard. Sore, but not painful.” They rolled over and stretched out, kicking off the covers, and even Aziraphale could see their hips were aligning oddly. “I'll show you.”

Crowley took Aziraphale's hand and put it on their hip, and moved their leg. The joint, so close to the skin on Crowley's slender frame, moved strangely, too loosely, and Aziraphale nodded.

“I can feel it,” she confirmed, and gave Crowley's leg a little pat. “Shall we go another day?”

Crowley shook their head. “I want to try today. If you do?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale leaned over to kiss them. “We'll figure it out as we go.” She rested her hand on Crowley's hip, thumb rubbing on the bump of bone that stood out proud on their body. “Crowley, love? Has it been getting worse?”

Crowley shook their head again. “No, angel. I go through phases all the time. Might not have another day like this for three centuries – or might spend most of the next decade in bed.” They smiled a little. “Well, maybe not only in bed, anymore.”

“Banish the thought,” Aziraphale said briskly. “Not unless you want to.” She leaned over and framed Crowley's head with her forearms, leaning in for a quick kiss. “Suppose I wasn't around, the times it was hardest,” she said quietly.

“No. No one was.” Crowley cupped her face in their hands. “Safer to hide out, or sleep, or even to go back to Hell. Or go snake-form.” They grinned. “And sometimes I just scarpered for a decade or a century at a time. Don't think you missed something obvious, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale turned her head and kissed their hand. “Fair enough. Goodness knows I...hid some things from you, too.”

“I know,” Crowley said softly, drawing her down into an embrace. “But you're safe now. No one will ever hurt you again. Might not be great at walking sometimes, and I'm always bad at hanging drywall, but I like to think I'm pretty okay at protecting angels. Well, one angel.”

Aziraphale smiled and squeezed them. “You're very good at protecting me, love.” She tucked her face into the soft, fragrant place where Crowley's neck became their shoulder, and breathed. It had been years since she'd been humiliated. Years upon years since she'd been punished by Heaven for being a bad angel. And, likewise, years since she hadn't been kissed and petted and loved every single day.

“Thought we were going out for the day?” Crowley teased, and Aziraphale gave them a little pinch.

“You literally have only yourself to blame,” she scolded, and pushed herself up and went to dress properly, cheerfully ignoring all of Crowley's colour commentary as she shed the dressing gown and picked out unders for the day. 

Aziraphale regarded her closet and chewed her lip. She'd promised to wear the gingham, just...

“Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“I know I said I'd wear a dress. But I really want trousers today. Just. Just so you know.”

Crowley, who had settled on the edge of the bed, had fully dressed themself with a snap. “Okay,” they said gently. “I know, now.”

Aziraphale smiled over her shoulder, horribly embarrassed by her...her-ness. “I know you don't mind, I really don't. And that you think I'm hot stuff in anything and nothing.”

“Particularly the nothing,” Crowley offered helpfully.

Aziraphale rolled her eyes. “Are you going to irritate me out of my trauma or whatever it is that makes me like this?”

“Yep,” Crowley said cheerfully. They pushed themself up to standing and took a few cautious steps over to where Aziraphale was, her arms already out to give Crowley something to lean on. “That's the plan. Is it working?”

Aziraphale gave this question the consideration it deserved. “The more time I spend with you, the more I think you were right about the whole Warlock and Adam switched babies thing.”

“Hmm?”

“That it was an ordinary cock-up,” she said, in her plummiest tones. “You seem the type.”

“ _We_ seem the type,” Crowley corrected her.

“ _I_ wasn't at the hospital that night,” Aziraphale said smugly. “Also, I really do need to get dressed. Either I lean you against the wall or walk you back to bed, your pick.”

Crowley couldn't help but laugh, picked the bed, and Aziraphale offered her arm for the few steps before going back to carefully dressing herself for the day until every hair and button and hemline was perfect, from tip to toe.

Crowley took the time to miracle up a pair of crutches, matte black and very sleek, and so they set off together, plunging into the breathless life of London in early summer.

It was a particular jewel of a day, Aziraphale reckoned later. She had so many of those with Crowley, now, but this one was a bit extra-special. They meandered their way through Soho, window-shopping and talking about topics of no importance, but which gave them great pleasure. They stopped for coffee and pastries and people-watching, and Aziraphale sighed when Crowley tempted some particularly fluffy dogs into a mad race down the street, their tiny legs going and their owners giving chase. Then it was back into the streets, wending their way to St. James' Park for old times' sake. Of course, Aziraphale knew better than to feed the ducks bread anymore, but it was nice to sit on the bench there and watch them, and eavesdrop on various spies. That used to save her sometimes, in the bad old days – she could learn things, and seem more involved in her work than she was.

Aziraphale knocked her knee against Crowley's and they smiled at one another, and she rested her head on their shoulder for a moment, smug in her contentment. She imagined, for a moment, the ghosts of their past selves, meeting to make Arrangements, or bitch about their respective sides. To plan a lunch together, or how to avert the Apocalpyse. Or, once, in one another's body, to save the one they loved best.

She smiled, watching the ghosts of the past flow through time. Poor, sad angel – and poor, sad demon, for that matter. Oh, not always, if you'd asked her then she would have told you that she was quite content. But she hadn't known what heights her joy could reach. Not then.

“Ready to move on?” Crowley asked, when they'd had a full changeover of attaches and spies and such, and had picked up on the new tradecraft.

“Mmm, yes. Sorry, lost in my thoughts.” Aziraphale touched one of the crutches propped between them. “These seem to be doing you well, love.”

“They are,” Crowley confirmed. “Walking's easier when my hips can do whatever they like without having to hold me up all by themselves.”

Aziraphale smiled and kissed their cheek. “Good.” And they rose and went about the rest of their day, Aziraphale already accustomed to Crowley's changed gait. A little slower and not as smooth as their usual snaked-hipped saunter, but rhythmic and easy to adjust to so that they walked side by side, as they always had.

The V&A was beautiful and a kind of extended home as ever, and they exclaimed over forgotten details, or settled and just drank in the view. More tea and cakes were had, of course, and a scrummy lunch. Dinner plans were made and they even split up briefly when they went to Harrods, promising to meet back at the great food hall.

Aziraphale picked out some new wineglasses they would need, and ordered a hamper to be delivered in a few weeks; she had a fuzzy notion of taking Crowley on a Midsummer picnic, or something of the sort. With a special date in mind, she went next to the floor with women's clothing; so much easier to buy off the rack, than to find a trouser suit that could be fitted to her. Besides, she had a shopping date with Saoirse the next day, and that would take care of the butch aspect of her wardrobe.

A little shy, she tried on some more modern dresses and found them very much not to her taste, even though big hips were back in. Aziraphale made a face at the mirror – she probably looked fine, but she didn't look  _right_ , so back out to the racks it was, until she found a lovely sundress. She was a decently tall woman but the hem still brushed the floor. It was a light blue dotted in white, and rather daringly sleeveless. Aziraphale tugged it up fully over her bosom, blushed, and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. All right. This would pass muster for Crowley. 

Of course, she had to stop by the lingerie department to get a proper brassiere, and pick up a pretty lace set while she was there. The ouvert knickers made her grin – it wasn't like they'd make use of them, but she thought it might be a cute little nod to Crowley's apparent total allergy to pants.

She looked up at one point, certain that she sensed Crowley, and maybe even heard them, but there was no familiar flash of red hair, so she shrugged, went to go pay, and headed to the correct level to meet Crowley before they had to leave for dinner.

The rest of the night was one of immense joy, of the simple kind that could be found with dinner and a friend and enough wine to make merry with. It ended with Crowley flatly refusing to ever take a taxi, and kindly miracling them back home, and even into bed.

Aziraphale giggled as she fell back against the pillows and held out her arms, and of course Crowley came crashing in in moments.

“Hello,” she said, and kissed them. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Crowley wriggled until their head rested beside Aziraphale's, arms around her soft waist. “Nnngh, yes. I know you have a hot date with a tailor tomorrow but let's stay like this until then?”

Aziraphale smiled, finger-combing Crowley's hair. “I can do that. Everything all right, dear?”

Crowley nodded, and gave her a little squeeze. “Perfect. So perfect. Happy. Dun wanna move.”

Another giggle bubbled up out of Aziraphale. “As long as you're happy.”

Crowley nodded and sighed blissfully, going so easy in her arms. “Promise. Even m'hips don't hurt. Not much. Jus' don't work.”

“Well, we've got ways around that.” Aziraphale scritched Crowley's back softly through the thin fabric of their shirt. “You did wonderfully today. From what I could see, anyway.”

Crowley nodded. “Uh huh. Way better than staying home,” they agreed and grinned over at her. “Wanna see what it feels like?” They held out their hand.

“Oh! Switch – like before – ?” Aziraphale smiled and took their hand, squeezing slender fingers. “I would very much like to, sweetheart, thank you.”

“Alley-oop,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale closed her eyes and let her atoms spin out. Not really, but that's what it felt like. For a moment, for an eternity, they were one creature not two, and she thought she might burst across the galaxy with how much love she/they felt.

Aziraphale opened her eyes to quite a different scene. And sensation.

“Oooh,” she said, and wriggled down the bed, burying her face in – well, her own breasts.

“ _Oooooh_ ,” she said again, though rather more muffled.

Crowley, who had settled right into her body, laughed and stroked her hair. “Now you see why I do that so much.”

“Gnarh,” Aziraphale announced. Reluctantly, she pulled away; they hadn't swapped corporations so she could get off on her own tits. Also, Crowley would enjoy that _far_ too much.

She blinked, getting used to serpent eyes and a body rather different than her own. And different than the last time she'd been in it, even. She made a face and touched her hip – Crowley's hip. Whoever's hip. “Oof.”

“Does it hurt?” How funny, and how sweet, to watch her own face crease with concern, to feel her own arms come around her and cradle her. How wonderful, to be so loved.

“A little,” Aziraphale admitted. “Not badly.”

“You get used to it.” A soft kiss – well, an attempt at one. They both managed to miss, and laughed. “Well, y _ou_ won't get used to it,” Crowley corrected themself. “You get a turn 'round the room, and then we switch back, all right?”

“Fair,” Aziraphale agreed. She was already holding her body differently, accounting for the discomfort, for the joints that didn't line up the way they ought.

“Up you go, then,” Crowley said, and helped her to sit up on the edge of the bed. They moved to stand in front of her, and checked in with a kiss. “Ready?”

“Ready. Crowley, my love, I'm not afraid of your body,” Aziraphale said. “I love it. It's all right.”

Crowley shivered and closed their eyes a moment and oh fuck, was _that_ what she looked like when she was overwhelmed and had too many feelings? No wonder Crowley flung themselves into a tornado of action when she was hurting.

“Right.” Crowley took a deep breath. “Right, yes. Okay. Going to help you up, then get you set up on the crutches, all right?”

“All ready to go here,” Aziraphale promised, and held on when, between the two of them, they got Crowley's body standing. “It's all right,” Aziraphale said cautiously. “Just. Perhaps don't let go of me entirely. Bit wobbly in here.”

“Never,” Crowley promised, and gave her one arm to steady against while she got her hands and arms situated. She'd watched Crowley and Aelis and plenty of other humans do this hundreds of times, but wanted to be careful about it. This was the most precious body in the universe, after all.

“I'm letting go, but I'm right here,” Crowley said softly. “You're safe, Aziraphale.”

“Well I know _that_ ,” she said. “Would rather not give back this body damaged, is all.”

Crowley smiled and slowly drew their hands away. “There. See, you've got the knack of it.”

“Your body has the knack of it,” Aziraphale corrected. “Let me try – ah, yes.” She took a careful step, not sure how these hips worked. Poorly, was the answer, but with her weight partly off her legs, it was okay. The next step went easier, and the one after that, until she was to the doorway. There was a bit of verbal coaching (“Don't lean on them completely, you'll wear your arms out, yes, good, you've got it!”), but she turned and made it back to the bed unharmed and smiling.

“I see,” she said slowly. “I see why it works better like this.”

Crowley nodded, and cleared their throat. “Can I try something? Just stand there.”

“Of course – oh!” Aziraphale giggled when Crowley put their arms around her waist and just _hugged_ her, face into her shoulder. She couldn't do much with her arms, but she laid her head against Crowley's and nuzzled a little. Ooof, were her curls always this messy? Goodness.

She stopped giggling when Crowley didn't move for a long time. “My dear, what is it?”

“Nothing,” Crowley mumbled. “Just wanted a hug.”

“Oh my darling,” Aziraphale breathed. Crowley wanted to see what an embrace was like for her when they had to use crutches, she was certain of it. It was _tickety boo as fuck_ , was what it was. And she hoped like anything that Crowley was getting that into their thick head.

Crowley held on for a long time. Their eyes were a little red, the blue of the iris bright, when they pulled back. “Can we switch back now?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale agreed. She settled on the bed, set the crutches aside safely, and lay down, “Lie down next to me, all right? So I can hold you.”

“Good to know you're still demanding, even in _my_ body,” Crowley grumped, but they also did exactly as she asked.

Aziraphale grabbed them and kissed them, long and sweet, and let that send them back, so she could open her eyes and be holding her Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! The next chapter may actually be a (multichapter) companion story. Then again, I have, er, a lot of indoor writing time these days, so you might get more for this story and the companion tale!


	17. Chapter 17

She opened her eyes slow, getting used to being back in her body. They'd lingered, just a little, atoms mixing and being two-made-one.

“Hullo, you,” Crowley said softly, and smiled at her, their eyes glowing in the soft evening light.

“Darling.” Aziraphale gave them an extra cuddle, just for a moment, and shifted so _she_ was holding _Crowley._ Again. Just in their right bodies this time. Crowley chuckled, but also went happily into her arms.

“See? 's not so bad being me,” Crowley said.

“I never thought it was,” Aziraphale said, sounding surprised. She kissed the tip of Crowley's nose. “You're going addled. Let's go to bed, hmm?”

“We already are,” Crowley said, just to be a nudge. The look they got from Aziraphale was worth it, although they protested volubly at being dumped onto the bed so Aziraphale could rise and change into her pyjamas.

Crowley, of course, sorted it all out with a snap, including winding up under the covers, very comfortable against the night's chill. Aziraphale's bedroom was small and snug, tucked up and away, and the patter of rain on the roof was wonderfully comforting, as was watching her stretch and move as she undressed and dressed again in crisp cotton in the palest blue. She joined them in bed, settling back against some pillows and a book on her lap. Once she was clearly set for at least the next several hours – including a miracled cup of tea – Crowley snuggled up to her hip, pressing their face into the cotton that, they were startled to learn, smelled like home. Their place in the country, that is – well, that was home now too.

“Sweet dreams, my dear,” Aziraphale said warmly. She petted Crowley's hair, now growing out a little but cropped short, the velvet texture turning silky and soft.

“L'yuh,” Crowley told Aziraphale's hip, and drifted off, and had very sweet dreams indeed.

The next day found them in rather the same circumstances – Crowley lounging on the bed in their underwear, still deciding what revolutionary costume the day called for, while Aziraphale meticulously dressed herself in preparation for a bout of intense, expert-level clothes shopping.

“You can come with us, of course,” she offered, fairly clearly only to be polite.

Crowley waved her away. “Nah, you go have fun. Just be bored silly and get us kicked out,” they said in a display of self-awareness apparently so great it stopped Aziraphale in her tracks.

“Well, thank you, dear. Any plans?” she asked, carefully tying a tie. It was a lovely shade of pale gold, and set her hair off rather well, she thought.

Crowley shrugged. “Stay here. Be annoying on Twitter. Might go for a drive,” they said, very casually.

“That sounds lovely,” Aziraphale said. She came over to the bed and sat beside Crowley, and leaned down for a kiss which, of course, was given to her with great warmth.

Crowley smiled to themselves when Aziraphale rubbed their hip. She wanted _so_ badly to ask, but also to be tactful. Crowley loved her like crazy.

“They don't hurt,” Crowley assured her softly. And their hips _didn't_ hurt. Maybe a little uncomfortable, canted in a funny way and with the joints gone too loose, but they weren't in a bit of pain.

Azirphale ducked her head. “Am I being too worrisome?”

“No, love.” Crowley sat up and took her hands, kissing the backs of her fingers. “You're doing better than I would be, if our positions were switched,” they said, very honestly, and were rather proud of themselves for that.

“Tch.” Aziraphale squeezed their fingers. “You would be brilliant,” she said warmly. “Text Saoirse if you need to reach me. I love you. _Try_ not to get banned on Twitter again?”

“I _never_ ,” Crowley huffed, and grinned at her. “Look at us. I'm going to see you _in a few hours_.”  
“I know. Wouldn't know that we used to go centuries without a check-in,” Aziraphale marvelled. “Right then, dear, see you at supper.”

“Have fun,” Crowley said, and gave her a little smack on the bottom to bid her goodbye, and in appreciation. These were some of the more modern trousers she owned, and they hinted at the curves that were beneath the gabardine.

“You are a _terrible_ flirt,” Aziraphale observed as she left.

“I _know_ ,” Crowley growled, and waggled their eyebrows.

“No, I mean you're _bad at it_ ,” Aziraphale clarified, and let Crowley's yawp of indignity sail her out of the bedroom, downstairs, and out onto the street.

Crowley waited until she was definitely gone and definitely not about to miracle back in to pick up something she forgot. They wriggled over to Aziraphale's side of the bed just because that's where the sun fell, not for any disgustingly romantic reason at all, of course. They stretched out, and started to look up the best jewelers in London, priority given to those well away from anywhere Aziraphale might be that day.

They read reviews and narrowed it down, looked at websites and offerings and narrowed it down some more. Made a few calls to those too old-fashioned to have websites. Aziraphale liked the old-fashioned places, so Crowley had a hunch that that wasn't a bad way to go.

Finally, with a shortlist of ten or so places scattered about the city, Crowley snapped their fingers to get dressed, put on a pair of sunglasses, snagged their crutches, and headed out, a being on a Mission.

They started out with the shop farthest from Soho, and slowly wended their way closer. Honestly, people complained about traffic so in London, and Crowley just didn't quite know where they were coming from – and they _never_ failed to find a spot precisely in front of the shop they liked. Well, there was no helping some folks, they decided, going into their first choice.

There wasn't anything there that was quite right for their angel, nor at the next place. Third time lucky, though, at a little shop down a twisty medieval street that even the Bentley wasn't going to brave.

So Crowley approached on foot, ducked in through the miraculously open door, and knew they'd found the place. It was _auspicious_ is what it was. If Aziraphale had opened a jewellers – and magpie that she was, it wasn't impossible – it would have been this store.

A very primly-dressed woman behind a counter eyed them for a moment, but they must have passed some kind of test. Perhaps it _was_ like the bookshop, and only certain people could ever really even get in.

They nodded hello, and the woman nodded back.

“What can I help you with?” She tilted her head. “And what's your honorific?”

“Just Crowley,” Crowley told her, now _absolutely_ certain they had come to the right place. “What wedding rings have you got?”

“Crowley,” she said, and pulled out a tray. “Matched pair?”

“Probably,” they said, ignoring the pounding in their heart. They weren't _really_ going to get married to Aziraphale, not in some human ceremony. But...rings. Aziraphale needed a ring, and so did Crowley. So here they were. Looking at rings.

They bypassed the completely plain gold bands. Beautiful, of course, old yellow gold that gleamed in the purposely terrible lighting. Aziraphale would probably love it, but it wasn't _quite_ right.

Crowley lingered over a very old pair of rings inset with rock crystal. So much of Aziraphale's jewellery was Anglo-Saxon anyway, though, so they bypassed the set as not quite special.

And then – oh, yes. Yes, this had been made for them. Plain bands on the outside, but with the most delicate of leafed branches etched on the inside. A ring that held a tree; that looked quite ordinary, but was absolutely extraordinary.

Of course Crowley knew Aziraphale's ring size; long before they had even started this whole romantic thing, they had bought her pretties from time to time. They were ready with a little miracle to make sure the rings were their sizes already.

And – oh. There was no need. The rings _were_ their sizes. Crowley looked up and squinted into the dark of the shop. Nothing demonic or angelic here, though, but that didn't mean there wasn't anything _different_ about the place. They squinted at the proprietress through their glasses, and she smiled back.

“These, then?” she asked, passing her hand over the rings that had, Crowley believed more and more, truly been made for them and Aziraphale.

“Yes, please.” They watched the woman nestle the rings together in a small velvet box, then into a larger box, then into a tasteful bag that would fit easily into Crowley's satchel, so they could carry them back to the car. She rung them up and they half expected to be charged a roc's egg and the feather of a phoenix, but no, money it was. And a fair cost, too, for the workmanship in the design, though of course money didn't mean much to them.

Crowley paid, tucked the bag away very carefully, and thoughtfully returned to the Bentley, wondering if they'd ever be able to find the shop again. Probably not.

They still had plenty of time before Aziraphale returned home, and no real plans to fill it, so a drive around London it was, a little aimlessly. Crowley stopped at one spot to buy a few pastries for the morrow, and another, a shop they'd particularly liked the look of. No more in need of rings, they did buy a pretty pair of pearl earrings for Aziraphale, and a necklace cunningly constructed to look like a snake biting its own tail, the body made such that it would flow and rest heavy around the wearer's neck, not unlike a real snake. It was even made of some blackened metal and had topaz eyes. Nominally, it was for themself, but they hoped a little shyly that Aziraphale might like to wear it sometimes.

Crowley turned the Bentley back towards Soho, quietly ignoring the little frission they sometimes got, following this familiar route. Yes, they were alone in the car. But the bookshop wasn't on fire, and Aziraphale was safe. Saoirse had even sent them a few pictures, their angel looking over fabrics, and enjoying her lunch. The latter was a particularly beautiful unguarded moment, Aziraphale's eyes closed in pleasure as she tasted something. They were outside, and a breeze was ruffling her curls, and she was so beautiful it hurt.

So it wasn't like that one time, the time had had come to overshadow all the others, sometimes at least. Crowley slowed a little, and remembered to be calm. Everything was fine, and they'd see Aziraphale again in a few hours.

Their usual spot was open, obviously, and of course the building was untouched on the mild summer day. Crowley got out and smiled, and headed in, the doors kindly opening before them and requiring no awkward digging out of keys and freeing one hand then retaking a crutch. Of course, they then closed quite firmly behind Crowley, the lock sliding home.

Crowley looked around, pleased, and headed for the little nook that was theirs and Aziraphale's, that held Aziraphale's overflowing desk and a very comfortable sofa. Their satchel went upstairs with a snap, and Crowley happily settled down for a bout of seeing what the most obnoxious memes had been invented in the last week, so they could send them to everyone they knew.

The sun worked across the sky, though the dirty windows of the shop ensured that the same soft glow of light stayed consistent inside. Crowley was just on the edge of getting bored when they heard the door go and Aziraphale let herself in with a cheery hello.

“In here!” Crowley called, and grinned at their pretty angel when she appeared. Aziraphale was just _dapper as fuck_ , and they were so happy. It was very silly, they'd been apart only a few hours, but who could blame them? Besides, Crowley reckoned it was a good thing that the two of them were happy to practically live in the others' pocket. They were not fully confident that anyone else ever created could put up with either of them.

“My dear.” Aziraphale smiled fondly and came over to the sofa, kneeling to kiss Crowley hello.

“Hi, angel. Oh, just shove those out of the way,” Crowley said, when she almost knocked their crutches over. Together, they stowed them a little better under the sofa, and she got in a proper kiss.

“Good day?” Aziraphale asked, kneeling so her arms framed Crowley's face. Crowley, lazy demon that they were, stayed lying on the sofa, grinning up at her.

“Very good. You? Come up here, I want to hold you,” they complained, and tugged on her jacket until she wriggled and squirmed and so did they, and the two of them managed to wedge onto the sofa. Crowley closed their eyes, just for a moment, to savour Aziraphale all soft and sweet and lush, heavy against them.

“Everything all right?” Aziraphale asked softly.

“Mmm _hmmm_.” Crowley gave them a little squeeze. “Really, I'm fine. Little bit of a hiccup driving back here. You know how it is.”

“I do.” Aziraphale kissed their cheek. “You went out, then?”

“Uh huh,” Crowley said, thinking fast. “Just wanted to drive. And I got you some pastries.” They smiled. “And a present. I'll show you later.” They could give Aziraphale the earrings, and see how she liked the necklace, at least. The rings...that needed a special time. Crowley would think of something good, a really proper special treat for their angel.

“Ooooh, I like presents.” Aziraphale kissed the tip of their nose. “I ordered a few suits, by the way, but they'll deliver them to the house. I was thinking...do you want to go back, soon? All the children are well, and I don't have anything else keeping me here. And there's ever so much to do...”

“We've gone countrified,” Crowley observed. “I don't need to stay here, angel. Home tomorrow, then? Country home,” they corrected themselves. “This is home too.”

“Of course. And yes. One more dinner here, then home.” Aziraphale smiled. “I was going to say it was _our_ home, but this is yours too, of course.”

Crowley's heart gave a rather painful squeeze, so they told it to fuck off, especially before they said something utterly awful like how _Aziraphale_ was their home. “The Criterion, then? One last fancy blow-out?”

Aziraphale made a face. “How do you feel about Ethiopian? The little place – “

“Oh yes, there!” Crowley grinned. “Although if they get more Coptic décor in, you're going to have to start going by yourself.”

Aziraphale laughed and kissed their cheek. “We can sit in the garden, it's wonderfully warm out.” She snuggled her head onto their shoulder, and Crowley started to stroke her back, slow and easy, the way they knew she liked it best.

“How's Saoirse?”

“She's wonderful,” Aziraphale assured them. “Tired from the new job. But good tired, I promise. And she'll settle in.”

“Good,” Crowley said. “She seemed quiet the other day...”

“She _is_ quieter,” Aziraphale agreed. “But it's nothing bad, love, I promise you. Just busier, and getting older. She's growing up. They all are.”

Crowley smiled, keeping up the steady rhythm of their hands. “S'pose so. My girls aren't girls anymore.”

“They love you – and each other – just as much as they did years ago,” Aziraphale reminded them gently.

“I know. Promise, I'm not brooding.” Crowley gave her a little hug. “Thanks for taking her out to lunch.”

“Of course. She was wonderful to go shopping with, knew just where to take me.” Aziraphale blushed. “I'm not always terribly good at...at some aspects of being a modern woman, I think. It was nice to have a friend.”

“Bollocks. You make a perfect woman,” Crowley said hotly. “Who's telling you otherwise?”

Aziraphale laughed. “My tits, when I work without a bra, you silly ass. That's all!”

“I still think no one should have let you know about sports bras,” Crowley grumbled. “You could have just sat there like a queen, bare-breasted and wild. I'd do all the work.”

“Ah, but that's neither fun nor fair,” Aziraphale chided gently. “Better to share the load, and anyway you get me naked plenty.” She smiled wider. “You can undress me tonight. I have a surprise for you.”

Crowley grinned at that. Aziraphale's surprises were rarely actually _surprises_ – she probably had some exciting new underwear – but always incredibly lovely. Minus the magic tricks.

They snuggled a little longer, savouring being back together after even just a few hours apart. Crowley kissed Aziraphale another half-dozen times, and got kissed back, plus some gossip to boot. Aziraphale finally got up to make them a cup of tea, and Crowley enjoyed a delicious full-body stretch, joints crackling, and settled with a contented sigh.

They were quiet over tea. Aziraphale puttered about, halfheartedly sorting books, while Crowley watched her move around, making 'shop' and 'house' piles. There were a few easy choices to bring to the house; where there were multiples of the same edition, or even different editions that were close enough in how loved they were. Tolkien went to the house of course, and Thomas More, and Virgil. T.H. White – Aziraphale wavered over editions, but finally went with a fine, early one that they liked to read aloud to each other from. _Maurice_ was added to the shop pile, but with a tender smile, and Crowley would bet money that there was a first edition somewhere in their house. The _Just William_ books, of course, stayed in the shop, as that was their first and only home, but _Swallows and Amazons_ would come with them. The smell of old books and tea and Aziraphale's perfume when she walked close enough rooted Crowley to the earth, and to this place, so much that they had to close their eyes for a moment to breathe it all in. There were, of course, no words for their gratitude, or for how much they loved to lie here and simply be, and let the world spin around their safe little space.

Just for a moment, though, and not long after that it was time to leave for a drink, and then dinner, walking slow (for London) to savour the last bit of the city they'd get for a little while. “We really _must_ get the kitchen usable,” Aziraphale said, as even crowded pavements parted for them. They would have done so anyway – people tended to curve around Crowley and Aziraphale, not noticing them, but giving them plenty of space just the same – but Crowley fancied they caught Aziraphale giving people an extra glare or two, and _definitely_ re-routing a very small dog that looked ready to tangle in Crowley's crutches. When the tiny, poorly-behaved beast tangled around its owner's legs, it was the best gift Aziraphale could have given Crowley, and they gave her a love-drunk grin in thanks.

Aziraphale returned it with a sweet, protective smile, rested her hand on the small of Crowley's back for a moment, and they swept on to the little bar they favoured for pre-dinner drinks.

Drinks led to dinner led to a very full (Aziraphale) and slightly tipsy (Crowley) wander back to the bookshop, and a little nightcap just like old times, with Aziraphale sat at her desk, her chair turned around, and Crowley draped beautifully across the sofa, the both of them talking utter bollocks until Crowley yawned so wide their jaw cracked.

“You are _terrible_ ,” Aziraphale said with a smile that warmed her whole face, not to mention Crowley's whole heart. “Let's get you up to bed.”

“Up, yes. Bed, not yet.” Crowley yawned, and convinced themselves they weren't tired, at least for a little bit. “I have to give you your present,” they said, blinking at the sensation not unlike a shot of espresso straight to the veins.

Aziraphale brightened considerably. “Oh, Crowley. You do spoil me.”

“Well, yes. Glad you noticed, angel.” They winked at her, feeling very dashing about it all, and only flailed a little while trying to stand up. Not because of their hips, just because of who they were as a person.

Aziraphale patiently helped them up, but couldn't hide a little eye-roll. “You're becoming a lightweight,” she accused, as they headed up to the little bedroom, the night sky clear for once and visible through the great, bright dome. It was genuinely beautiful, and Crowley was glad all over again that Aziraphale had acquired this place and made it her own. And as Crowley was her own too, they belonged here completely.

“Am not,” Crowley argued amiably, casting one last fond glance down at the stacks of books and their own little spot. And, not incidentally, checking that any lights were out, and the hotplate and kettle were safely off. There were not, and never would be again, candles in the bookshop.

Crowley settled on the bed in a comfortable upright sprawl. “Bring me my satchel?” they asked, and of course Aziraphale fetched it.

Crowley, who refused to live their life in a romantic comedy, made sure they pulled out the bag that did _not_ hold the rings, which was safe in a half-hidden compartment. There would be no accidental romantic shenanigans on their watch, thank you very much.

“Got us breakfast, too,” they said, and Aziraphale cooed and set the fragrant bag aside carefully.

Crowley felt a bit shy all of a sudden. “I just, um. Here,” they said, wishing they could be just a _little_ bit smooth. Aziraphale deserved smooth.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale leaned over and took their hands and oh _Satan_ she was going to be _genuine_ and tender and _kind_. “Thank you, love. But you know you don't ever have to give me gifts, right? All I ever need is you.”

“Now who's drunk?” Crowley grumbled, but they made Aziraphale smile, so that was okay. “I know. I do. 'm sorry. I just don't know how. To say. Yeah.” They gestured helplessly at the boxes, at Aziraphale, at six millennia of friendship and love. “Words. Not so good with words. And you.”

Aziraphale smiled and kissed their forehead. “I know.” They opened the box with the earrings first – simple little pearl drops on silver wires, but Crowley thought they were beautiful, and they were, as Aziraphale put them in right away to show off to them.

She _gasped_ at the snake necklace, eyes going wide.

“If you don't want it, that's okay,” Crowley said, while Aziraphale gently stroked the metal scales. “I know it's more my style. But I thought you might...like to wear it sometimes?” It wouldn't be the first piece of jewellery they'd shared.

“Crowley, I _adore_ it. Did you have it commissioned? We both must wear it,” she decided, carefully lifting it in her hands. “Oh, it's wonderfully heavy. Look, it won't go with my suit at all, may I put it on you?”

“Uh. Of course?” Crowley showed her how the catch worked, releasing the little snake's jaws, and she cooed again over how lovely and clever it was. Her hands were feather-soft, draping it around Crowley's neck and over their sharp collarbones, working the clever little clasp to secure it in place. “I didn't commission it, no. Just wanted to buy you something, and this was there.”

“You really spoil me far too much,” Aziraphale said, but she wasn't chiding. Her eyes glowed, and she looked proud and pleased, and _good_. Aziraphale deserved to be spoiled too much, and Crowley deserved to be the one to do it.

“Yes. Yes I do,” Crowley said happily, and touched the snake, slowly warming from their body heat. “How does it look on me?”

“Wait here.” Aziraphale rose again and quickly returned with a silver-backed hand mirror, holding it so Crowley could see themself.

“Not bad,” they agreed, and laughed when Aziraphale aimed a swat at her. “What!?”

“You look stunning, my dear,” she said, adjusting the necklace just a hair. “Crowley, truly. You're beautiful.” She moved the mirror for a moment to kiss them, which turned into another kiss, and another, Crowley hauling them down to sprawl against them – as sprawl-y as Aziraphale ever got – the mirror forgotten in their deep and abiding need to kiss the wine-taste from Aziraphale's mouth.

They giggled and teased one another with kisses, while Crowley slowly, so slowly, started to undress Aziraphale so she could show them her exciting new underwear before they got ready for bed.

They started with the tie, of course, gently undoing the knot and setting it aside to go back on the tie rack. They should have done that too, and apologized, and were soothed with a kiss.

“Darling, I want you right here in my arms,” Aziraphale said firmly. “I can put my clothes away later. Better you be comfortable.”

“Walking isn't uncomfortable,” Crowley protested. “You know that.”

Aziraphale smiled, and they noticed her eyes were a beautiful dark blue tonight. “I know, and what a gift you could give me, to live in your body a little and learn how you have to move for a bit. But still. Easier this way.” She grinned. “And quicker.”

“ _Honestly_.” Crowley laughed and helped her out of her coat, setting the dear antique aside, the thing that was a constant between years and gender presentations and everything. They drew her into their arms for kisses while they undid the buttons of her waistcoat, mindful of her pocketwatch, carefully taking that into keeping.

“Just out of curiosity,” Crowley said as they checked the time, coiled the chain, and set the whole thing aside. “Have you ever wound your watch?”

“Beg pardon?”

Crowley kissed her again, slipping her braces from her shoulders. “Never mind. I thought not. Let me see your feet, angel, that's it, good girl,” they praised. Aziraphale's brogues were taken care of quickly, and her socks pulled off, and they even got in a tiny foot massage, just enough to ease any tension from the evening's walk. Then it was back to her shirt, pulled free of those lovely trousers and unbuttoned, and Crowley cooed at their first surprise. Aziraphale's brassiere was all fine lace and netting, leaving exactly nothing to the imagination but lifting her breasts just a bit, rounding them, and of course setting them off beautifully, cream and pink lace against cream and pink skin, her nipples just barely visible.

“Beautiful,” Crowley praised, and kissed her shoulder. “May I touch?”

“Yes, dearest,” Aziraphale granted permission, and Crowley carefully cupped a single breast, admiring the soft weight of it. They leaned over to kiss the edge of lace and skin, and to breathe in Aziraphale's scent. No perfume here, just _her_.

“Thank you,” Crowly said, and kissed her cheek. “You do have wonderful taste in women's underwear.”

Aziraphale giggled, and gave a happy wiggle, and Crowley's heart did a funny thing. _They_ had made her this happy. They thought about rings, and felt a quiver in their heart.

“Let me,” Aziraphale said quietly, as Crowley went to undo her trousers, and of course they backed off, charmed when Aziraphale gave them a sweet kiss, stood, and shed the rest of her clothes, undershirt included, and stood there proud as anything in all her glory.

Crowley laughed and clapped their hands when they noticed the ouvert knickers, the pretty lace stopping well before where the actual crotch of the garment would go. “Aziraphale! You _minx_!”

Azirphale laughed and crawled back on the bed, laying down and giggling when Crowley rolled on top of her, and then to her other side, one hand on her belly. She bent one knee up and Crowley admired the effect.

“Whoever knew my angel could be so cheeky?” they marvelled, pinched her tummy – very gently, of course, wouldn't do to hurt one of Crowley's favourite parts of Aziraphale's body – and sat up to kiss her knee.

“I thought you'd like them, since you seem allergic to underwear,” Aziraphale teased.

“Don't need underwear if you've got nothing to cover up!” Crowley said proudly. “Or if you're a sexy angel, I guess.”

Aziraphale laughed long and hard. “ _Sexy_?”

“What! You are!” Crowley giggled, and gave her a tickle to watch her wiggle and yelp. “You're _so_ sexy, even I know that.”

“I am not even a little bit sexy,” Aziraphale said in her laughter. “You're daft.”

“I am a _demon_. Asexual or not, we know from sexy. We _invented_ sexy,” Crowley said loftily. “Don't you take my aversion to banging as any indication that you aren't the sexiest thing in London right now, do you hear me miss?”

Aziraphale was laughing so hard she couldn't breath. “ _Banging_?” she managed to squeak out, and Crowley yowled and tried to pinch her again.

“Say you're sexy,” Crowley demanded.

Aziraphale laughed and shook her head. “No. _Pace_ , love, you can think what you like, but I don't like thinking of myself as _sexy_.”

“Of course. I'm so sorry,” Crowley said, and kissed her fingers. “Beautiful, then. Will you consider yourself beautiful?”

“No need to be sorry,” Aziraphale assured them. “And all right. Just for you. I'm beautiful, tonight.”

“You're beautiful every night and every day, but I'll take it,” Crowley decided. They smiled, watching Aziraphale caress herself, and even touch the edge of the panty, bemused and curious.

“Love?”

“Hmmm?” Aziraphale looked over at them and smiled.

“I know you're not, um, sex-averse, right?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Could take it or leave it. I've never coupled with anyone, if that gives you some idea.”

“Oh. I didn't know that,” Crowley admitted, and was ashamed that they were happy. There wasn't something Aziraphale had given someone else that she couldn't give Crowley. It was a nasty thought – Crowley didn't _own_ Aziraphale's body or anything, but it was a thought that was there.

“What's wrong, love?” Aziraphale asked, taking Crowley into her arms. They were on Aziraphale's side of the bed now, nearest the window, where the pillows were extra-soft, but Crowley ignored them to sink into their angel's body. Maybe not technically as soft, but so perfectly loved.

“Nothing,” Crowley assured them. “Maybe thinking too much. I wonder, sometimes.” They swallowed. “Just, sometimes. I know you love me, that you _really really_ love me. But. I'm sort of glad that you don't...miss sex. Or whatever.”

Aziraphale frowned, parsing through Crowley's jumble of words. “I think there's a leap of logic there I'm missing, Crowley. Go over that again?”

Crowley nodded and took a deep breath. “Ssssorry,” they said, and firmly told the snake part of them to _go away_ there would be none of that right now. They were _communicating_ . It was _healthy_. And Aziraphale had asked for something, and when had Crowley ever, in the history of the world, refused her anything she'd asked?

“I know you love _me_ ,” they said, changing the emphasis. “I just. Sometimes. Wonder if you wish I wasn't sex-repulsed? If you....well. You're really good at, you know. Temptation.” They waved their hand at what she was wearing and also her corporation and her dark blue eyes and silver-gold curls and her... _her-ness_. “Do you ever wish we could, um. Be more intimate?”

Aziraphale blinked at them, genuinely confused. “Crowley, you're the daftest creature I ever met. We've shared atoms. In the last twenty-four hours, even. No, darling demon. I've never wanted you to change. I love you, you're quite right about that.” She smiled. “You're about the only nonhuman creature I ever met who _didn't_ want me to change every aspect of myself to make it better, to fit some other standard. How could I ever want you to change, having been given that gift?”

“I. You. I. Change. Ngk.” Crowley was definitely dying. That was the only thing this feeling could mean. They were going to die because Aziraphale didn't want them to change, and loved them. Just as they were. This was too much for a poor snake to bear.

They pulled Aziraphale into a huge, breathless hug, trying to love every centimeter of her, even the annoying bits. Because in a way they loved the annoying bits too, and didn't want them to change either, because that would change their angel.

“Honestly, the things that set you off,” Aziraphale said, hugging them back. “You're a silly demon, did you know? Thinking I'd want to change you. Thinking you don't give me all I ever wanted.”

“ _Aziraphale_. _”_ Crowley suddenly wriggled out of her arms and crawled to the other side of the bed, scrabbling for their satchel, which was half under the bed now, but they hooked the strap just barely, and hauled it up on the bed, and commenced digging through it, feeling frantic and sure and shaking. Looking for a particular bag. “I have something else for you, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUNNNNN
> 
> I like that this is the closest I've gotten to a plot point in this whole story. Don't worry, they'll go back to renovation soon!


	18. Chapter 18

“All right.” Aziraphale sat, confused and not a little troubled. She should never have...done something. Worn this silly underwear set, for one, and she quietly snapped her fingers, miracling herself into her oldest, softest, frumpiest set of pyjamas. She'd repaired them so many times, but the fabric was good and thick and comforting against her skin.

Crowley continued to claw through their bag, frantically throwing things out over the side of the bed before they found a small package.

“Yes! Yes, good. Right.” They ripped the little package open and turned to face Aziraphale, looking frantic and wild and beautiful, and Aziraphale's heart hurt at the sight. What had she _done_?

“I was gonna do. Something for you,” Crowley explained. “Something big and fancy and beautiful, like you deserve. Like you always deserve. But. It's. I don't wanna wait. I'll do something big for you later, I promise, I really promise, but this shouldn't wait.” 

“All right,” Aziraphale said, puzzled and a little horrified that she was on the verge of tears. Why couldn't they just cuddle and go to bed, the way they always did?

“Hey. Angel.” Crowley went quiet all of a sudden, and held out a hand. “I love you. That's all this means. I love you.”

She took his hand and felt stronger.

Crowley smiled at her and opened the ring box one-handed, the gold gleaming against black velvet. “I'm not going to ask you to marry me, that doesn't work for us. But. I was thinking. I'd like to wear your ring. And have you wear mine.”

Aziraphale's free hand drifted to cover her mouth as her head buzzed. A  _proposal_ ? Crowley wanted them to wear rings?

“Crowley,” she said, and closed her eyes tight, vision swimming and because she didn't want to cry, but of course she was. “Are you sure?”

“Am I--” Crowley made a few frantic noises. “Angel! Yes! Yes, I am very, very, very sure!”

She laughed and wiped her eyes. “I'm sorry, what a foolish question.”

“Hey, no, no. Oh, sweetheart. C'mere.” The rings were set aside and Crowley tugged on Aziraphale's hand until she was properly in their lap, and they were rocking her softly. “I definitely should have waited and done something proper for this,” they said ruefully.

“Don't you dare, this is perfect.” Aziraphale giggled wetly; she couldn't seem to stop crying. “Crowley, what's more _our side_ than you flailing around, me crying, and the both of us doing this by the seat of our pants?”

“Well, when you put it that way...” Crowley laughed and kissed the top of her head. “This is kind of perfect. Oh, Zira. I love you so much.”

“I love you too. I'm so sorry.” Aziraphale laughed and wiped her eyes again. “I'm happy. Maybe still a little confused, but really happy, I promise.”

“Good.” Crowley kissed her cheek and rocked her a little more, and held her gently. “Can we try again? Like this?”

Aziraphale nodded, tears mostly stemmed now.

“So it's silly for us to get married. But I'd like us to have wedding rings anyway,” Crowley said, retrieving the box. “I want the whole fucking world to know that you love me, and cherish me, and that I love you back, and I'd do anything for you.”

“I'd like that too,” Aziraphale said, reaching out a fingertip to touch the gleaming gold. “Crowley, they're absolutely beautiful.”

“That's not even the best part.” They tugged the larger ring free and showed Aziraphale the incised tree branch on the inside surface. “I swear, I found them like this. Right sizes, even.”

Aziraphale gave a little gasp. “Oh, how perfect!”

Crowley tipped their forehead against hers, snuggled and close, and Aziraphale felt warm and good and cherished. “So?” they asked. “Can I put it on you?”

“I'm rather glad I got dressed now, you know,” Aziraphale said, and smiled at them, gazing into familiar amber eyes. “Please.”

Crowley managed to find her hand without dropping her gaze, and Aziraphale shivered, feeling the ring slide on, a perfect fit. “Now you.”

“Now me, but first, er. This is not....comfortable,” Crowley said tactfully.

“Oh, my dear!” Aziraphale scrambled out of their lap and let them stretch their legs out a bit, and get truly comfortable against the pillows. She grunted when they hauled her back onto their lap.

“I'm fine like this,” Crowley promised. “Was just getting a little folded up.”

“I'm not too heavy for you?” Azirphale asked.

Crowley snorted. “Never, angel. Banish the thought.” They hugged her, and kissed her cheek, and she smiled again.

“All right, love,” she said softly, and reached for Crowley's ring, carefully easing it out of the velvet box. “Let me see your hand.” She curled her fingers around Crowley's, and kissed their knuckles. “I love you. For always, I love you.” And, very gentle, she slipped the ring on, over bony joints and familiar skin, and blessed it with a little kiss. “There,” she said, very satisfied. “We're a set.”

It wasn't a surprise, at all, when Crowley burst into tears.

“You precipitated the downfall of humankind, and now look at you,” she teased, in between welling up herself.

“I was just doing what I was told!” Crowley protested, and hid their face in her neck. “You're completely different.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Very quietly, very carefully, Aziraphale manifested her wings, holding them so they shielded the two of them from the world, not unlike how she'd protected a demon from the rain so very, very long ago. She let Crowley hide for as long as they needed, kissed their hair and stroked their face and felt the ring around her finger, safe and secure and never removed again, not for all the days of her existence.

“Hey, wait. When'd you get clothes on?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale couldn't resist laughing.

“When you were scrambling around. I felt awfully silly in that ridiculous underwear,” she explained.

“I _liked_ that underwear,” Crowley said, and kissed the tip of her nose. “I like this, too, mind. Like you in everything. And nothing.”

“Especially the nothing?” Aziraphale asked dryly, and smiled when Crowley gave a self-deprecating shrug. “I guess the lace and everything was nice. But I felt a right tit just sitting there while you went through your bag.”

“I _really_ should have done this better,' Crowley said ruefully. “I'm sorry, angel. You deserve something romantic.”

Aziraphale made a rude noise. “We're plenty romantic.  _This_ is plenty romantic,” she said, snuggling closer into Crowley's arms. 

“Good,” Crowley said softly, and reached out to stroke her feathers. “You gorgeous thing. What do I have to bribe you with to get you to groom your feathers once in awhile?”

Aziraphale rolled her eyes. “For heaven's sake, you have impossible wing standards, you know.”

“I have _standards_ , yes,” Crowley bickered back, straightening a feather or six. “Isn't that much better?”

“Can't tell the difference,” Aziraphale said loftily, and giggled, and cupped Crowley's face in her hands, and now there were two rings pressed against their cheek, her halo and the ring Crowley had given her. How utterly perfect. “I love you,” she said, and kissed them, and kissed them again.

Crowley smiled at her, fingers over hers, and carefully rubbed her wedding ring, because what else was she going to call it? “You sure you want a demanding, lazy demon hitching themselves to you for all time?”

“Crowley, I want _you_. Always.” Aziraphale kissed them again. “My first friend in the world.”

“Oh, angel.” Crowley settled back against the headboard, Aziraphale soft in their arms, taking the weight of her like it was nothing. She settled her wings down and tucked her head under Crowley's cheek. 

Crowley smoothed her feathers, straightening and settling them into place, and Aziraphale preened a little sighing in gratitude when Crowley found two that had somehow become crossed, and gently straightened them. A feather slipped free, as long as their hand, and Crowley twirled it between their fingers, a little thoughtful.

“Keep it,” Aziraphale said sleepily. She wasn't tired, exactly, but being groomed always did make her a bit dozy. She used to get in trouble over it, in Heaven. Grooming was a duty to be carried out, not a pleasurable thing, and certainly nothing to fall asleep to. That was half the reason her wings were so messy; who'd want to groom an angel that fell over halfway through?

“Thank you, love.” Crowley kissed just under one of her eyes. “Oh, you're so sweet like this, I always forget.” They started preening in a new spot, right were her wings bent to fold against her, where it got the itchiest.

“Shouldn't fall asleep. Should return the favour,” Aziraphale protested, even as her eyelids drooped, a heavy, sweet feeling falling over her. 

“Hush. You can return the favour another time. Rest, my angel-girl,” Crowley murmured. “You've been working so hard, taking care of our babies. Let me take care of you, hmm?”

“You're daft,” Aziraphale murmured. She must be so heavy in Crowley's arms, but they were cradling her close and oh _yes_ she hadn't even known that feather was broken, it felt so good to have it taken care of. 

“I am, but not about this. I have you, love, I always have you. Shhh, that's my good girl.” Crowley crooned to her as she closed her eyes, just for a _moment_ , she wasn't tired at all, she had no reason to be. She was a messy little angel...and Crowley loved her. Crowley even loved how untidy her wings were, because Crowley _loved_ wing-grooming, and loved making her happy and easy and relaxed.

Secure in this, reminded that she was loved and wanted and treasured, Aziraphale drifted off.

It was late the next morning when she opened her eyes again, still in Crowley's arms. Crowley was fast asleep, and Aziraphale wondered when they had dropped off. She smiled and tucked her wings out of the world – they were smooth and shining anywhere Crowley could reach, and felt wonderful. Truly, she would have to return the favour soon. And they would have to spend a night talking and drinking tea and cuddling and loving one another soon too; silly angel that she was to fall asleep after as good as getting married!

Aziraphale was smiling as she very carefully extracted herself from Crowley's arms. Her sweet demon – Crowley reached out in their sleep and made a small, protesting noise.

“Shh, love,” Aziraphale breathed, helping them to lie down properly and tucking them in. “I'm right here. Right here with you, always.” She stroked their hair and didn't move again until Crowley had settled, curled up under the covers and safely asleep.

Aziraphale smiled and treated herself to leaning over and kissing Crowley's brow. “There we are,” she murmured, and rose. Silently she undressed, folded her pyjamas neatly, and put them away until next time. She took extra care in picking out her outfit – they'd be going back to the house, and she wanted to look her London best. Unremarkable unders to begin, and her cream linen suit, she decided, the one tailored to her. It was tight around her thighs, and she smiled a little at herself – she hadn't  _meant_ to gain muscle, but this body did what it would, sometimes. She was still pretty soft, she reckoned, touching her belly. A soft white shirt, a little looser than was fashionable, but one that let her use her harp cufflinks. The waistcoat was very simple, and she liked the cut of it; made to fit around her bosom without necessarily accentuating it. Aziraphale quite liked her breasts, but was definitely ready to be handsome, rather than sexy, and thought this outfit would be just the thing. A pocketwatch, of course, the chain rather pretty across her tum. And instead of her old long jacket, a shorter, more modern one, cut to fall to her hips and button closed at her waist.

She smiled at herself in the mirror, and added the pearl earrings Crowley had given her the night before, the pretty little things softening her face. Make-up wasn't quite right, but she pinched her cheeks and smiled, and combed her hair, and smiled some more. Of course, she still wore her ring, the gold soft and gleaming on her hand. She'd never take it off, ever.

Dressed for the day, she sat at a tiny table and chair by the window, and helped herself to a pastry. Crowley really was the most thoughtful being she'd ever known, she reckoned, nibbling happily while she ate and waited for her love to wake up.

It was early evening when they finally made it back to the house, taking their time after Crowley finally woke up. They had to kiss, of course, and Aziraphale to fuss when Crowley pulled her down onto the bed, wrinkling her suit.

And then they had to kiss some more, after their hands knocked together and their rings touched and neither of them were terribly useful for quite some time.

Aziraphale had fussed a little more, for Crowley had slept very late and were they all right? And Crowley had fussed back about the fussing, and there had been lunch at the little cafe around the corner. It had taken some time to load up the Bentley, as Aziraphale second-guessed most of her choices and Crowley, for their own good, ignored her and read the paper in the corner.

At last, though, they sailed forth from the city doing a respectable 90, and turned to greener pastures. Quite literally; it was well into summer and wheat swelled on the stalk and the world was in full swing; at least, their little corner of it. Crowley even slowed down, just a little, so they could enjoy the drive for a bit longer.

Their home was lit up golden when they returned, the air soft with the scent of flowers and other growing things, and Aziraphale couldn't stop a contented sigh as they pulled up the drive and Crowley turned the Bentley off.

“Happy to be home?” Crowley asked, smiling over at her. They were wearing their usual mix of sleek, black and fashionable, and Aziraphale cast an appreciative eye over their body. She leaned in and kissed their cheek, and smiled when Crowley's arm came around her shoulders. 

“You know I am,” she said. “Come, love. Let's open a bottle of wine in the garden, and watch the night come in.” It would take hours, this time of year, so close to midsummer.

They made their way under the passage that held Crowley's study and the pretty hallway where Aziraphale often read, skipping going into the house entirely; miracles would take care of unpacking the car and airing out the place. They'd paint their bedroom tomorrow, Aziraphale decided, and then Crowley could tend to the garden, and Aziraphale would help if they needed her, or start tackling the kitchen if they didn't. Quietly, she suspected she'd be in the garden; Crowley needed two crutches and was moving a little carefully. No pain, thank you whoever, but maybe not much for standing and kneeling right now.

Well, no matter; she loved to work outside, and she loved to work with Crowley, so it wasn't going to be any kind of hardship. And the kitchen was actually in fairly good shape, just in need of a proper scrubbing and perhaps a fresh coat of paint.

“I should make more paths,” she said suddenly, looking out at the wild, mazy space. “Look, it's practically impossible to get to that wall with the espaliered cherry, and didn't you want to put in raised beds in the northwest corner?”

“Raised beds will be next year but you're not wrong, angel,” Crowley said thoughtfully. “I'm all right on grass and dirt, but the paths are easier.”

“Prettier as well,” Aziraphale said as they settled at a little cafe table, and a bottle of wine the exact colour of the sunlight bathing them appeared, along with two glasses. “You'll enjoy them when you aren't on crutches too.”

“And you'll enjoy them all the time,” Crowley argued. They held out a hand, and Aziraphale took it just for the joy of holding, of touching Crowley's ring. “This garden's for you too, angel.”

“Of course. You know I'd love anything you created,” Aziraphale said. “And making the paths is fun, going around all the trees and things. Maintaining them will give me something to do.” She grinned and flexed a little, the fabric of her jacket straining a bit.

“You are _awful_ ,” Crowley groaned. “You and your temptations.”

“I learned from the best,” Aziraphale said graciously, and sipped her wine.

They held hands as they watched the sun set, fingers folded in palms. Crowley's fingertips grew cold; it was cooler here, outside of the city, and Aziraphale gave their hand a little squeeze, miracled a little warmth into them. Crowley was just a long drink of water, and held warmth about as well as one too.

“Should go inside, I s'pose,” Crowley said quietly when the sun had fully set, and the garden was in darkness.

“I'll make us some tea,” Aziraphale said. “Get you warmed up.”  
“Aw, I'm fine, angel,” Crowley protested. They snapped their fingers and the empty wine bottle and their glasses went to wherever they lived until Crowley next needed them. “You fret too much.”

“I do not, you get a chill if I so much as whisper the word 'cold' at you,” Aziraphale said. “Up, love. I'll add honey to yours.”

“Thanks,” Crowley mumbled, and upped. “Garden's nice. Messy, but nice.”

“It's wonderful,” Aziraphale said. “What's got you in a mood?”

“Nothing. 's dumb.”

“You've been dumb before and survived,” Aziraphale said gently. “Hold still a moment.”

Crowley did, and Aziraphale was pretty sure she had an idea of what was wrong. She went to hug Crowley, and the stiffening, just for a moment, before they relaxed into her arms – ah yes. They kept their arms still, leaning on their crutches, but nuzzled her cheek.

“Remember how nice this was when we swapped bodies?” Aziraphale murmured in their ear. “I love holding you, darling.”

“But I _want_ to hug you back. And hold your hand as we walk,” Crowley said. There was a little quaver in their voice that oh, that would _not_ do.

“Goodness, you should have said.” Aziraphale kept one arm around Crowley, raised her other hand, and snapped her fingers.

They blinked into their bedroom – well, temporary bedroom – every lamp already lit, and the kettle and teapot at the ready.

“Aziraphale!”

She laughed at the true startlement on Crowley's face; she didn't do these big miracles that often anymore. “Well, sit down, sweetheart. No, give me those, I'll lean them up here, is that okay? Good.” Aziraphale safely stowed Crowley's crutches within reach, and then hauled them close, the two of them tumbling back onto the bed.

“I love you,” she said, in case they had started to wonder a little, and kissed them, one hand coming up to cup their cheek, tilting her head a little to deepen the kiss. “I love you,” she breathed again, Crowley's arms tight around her.

“Oh, angel. I love you too,” Crowley said softly. They kissed her, and kissed her again, and touched their noses together to make Aziraphale smile.

“See, I get plenty of hugs,” Aziraphale told them, and petted their hair, a good inch long now and soft as down. “And I love holding you, darling, even when you can't hug me back in the moment. It's really _quite_ important to me that you know that. That I don't ever feel like I'm missing out.”

“I hear you,” Crowley said softly. “But sometimes _I'm_ missing out. I like holding you too, y'know.”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale hugged them so tight they squeaked. “I'm sorry, love. We'll find a way to make up for it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.” Crowley nuzzled the soft little squish under her chin. “'n it doesn't last forever. Times like this, I mean.”

“Exactly. But we've got to keep you happy while it does last, all right?” Aziraphale rubbed their back, and touched the back of her fingers to Crowley's cheek – the hand with her ring, of course.

“I'm happy,” Crowley promised her.

“ _Good_ ,” she said, and kissed them again, and cuddled them a little bit more, and then one more kiss. “Get under the comforter, darling, I'll make us tea.”

A true miracle – Crowley did as she asked, and it was a very cosy demon who got a mug of strong mint tea and a kiss as a reward. They'd changed into pyjamas with a snap, of course, and Aziraphale quickly joined them, although she actually got changed the human way.

She climbed under the comforter right next to Crowley and arranged them in a good, proper cuddle. Aziraphale didn't feel much like sleeping, but she could read while Crowley slumbered beside her – or, more likely,  _on_ her. Not that she was complaining.

“Painting tomorrow?” Crowley asked when tea was done and they were snuggled up to her hip.

“If it's rainy. Otherwise we can garden,” Aziraphale promised.

Crowley shook their head. “No, garden can wait. I want to get the bedroom back together.” They smiled up at her. “You won't let us work on your library 'til winter, let me give you a proper bedroom at least?”

“Oh, Crowley, you silly thing.” Aziraphale was smiling so much she thought her heart might burst. “You're giving me a beautiful garden too, you know. And I've got my little corners here and there. But all right, I won't argue with you. Painting the bedroom it is. Now go to sleep, darling. I'll be right here all night.”

“Good.” Crowley wrapped their arms around her leg, shoved their face into her hip in a move that could not _possibly_ be comfortable, and dropped off between one breath and the next.

Aziraphale drew the covers up around them a little more fully, making sure no demon necks might be exposed to a cool night. She could see their hips twisted under the covers, but Crowley was peacefully asleep, relaxed and not in any pain, so that was all right. 

“I love you,” she murmured to them, to the universe, to God her own self. “Dream sweet dreams, and I'll see you in the morning.” A little touch to Crowley's temple, the lightest caress over their inked-on snake, and she guaranteed only good dreams to her sweetheart, who did so very much for her.

Aziraphale turned back to her book, and read until morning.


	19. Chapter 19

They had a _routine_ , Aziraphale realized, one glorious summer morning over breakfast.

She was quite used to being set in her ways, of course, but to have a routine _with Crowley_ – that was something she hadn't really ever expected.

It was a little interrupted that day, on account of Crowley was a snake. Their hips had started to hurt the night before, which meant a change from a human body for a little bit, and Aziraphale with a scalier companion than usual.

The bedroom had just a single coat of paint, but Aziraphale had refused to wait; it would be silly to stop work when they were so close to finished, while at the same time Crowley in pain was simply not an option to be permitted. So they had compromised; she had promised to only work half-days, and Crowley had transformed into a jewel-like little snake, and that was that.

There had been a change there, too. Where before Crowley had always been black with a red belly, their body now had a deep golden band around it, just a centimetre or two wide. When Azirpahale had seen it the first time, she'd had to have a little cry (with a rather large snake wrapped around her torso offering comfort), but now it just made her feel flushed with love.

Crowley had slept the night curled up on Aziraphale's lap, heavy and smooth on her bared thighs. It was height of summer and warm even at night, so Aziraphale wore rather a short nightie, and only blushed a bit when putting it on.

Aziraphale, of course, had read through the night, stirring from bed once dawn broke and the chorus of birds, called by the flourishing garden, began. Crowley was still asleep when Aziraphale gently slipped them onto the bed and dressed for the day. A lovely bowl of granola and a pot of coffee in the garden was now capping off their morning ritual, and it was surprisingly not _that_ different to have breakfast with a snake, rather than a demon.

It was even, Aziraphale very privately thought, rather peaceful and nice. Not that she didn't love Crowley's chaos and chatter and teasing, but it was, well. Rather a nice break. And she didn't even give up her morning kiss; Crowley had made a bracelet of themself and twined about her wrist, rising up to dart their little pointed tongue onto her cheek.

“Oh, you're so sweet,” Aziraphale said, and laughed when she got side-eyed by a snake. “Don't act like that, you know you are. I love you too, sweetheart. Are you comfortable? No pain?”

Crowley couldn't speak in this form, not since Eden, but they bobbed a nod, and Aziraphale kissed the top of their scaly little head. “Good. Shall I come find you at lunch, sweetheart? That rock over there was simply _made_ for sunbathing.”

Crowley gave her a particularly beady-eyed look, and grew long enough to drape across her shoulders, clearly not moving.

“Oh, really now, I'm just painting, I hardly need supervision,” Aziraphale protested.

She sighed when Crowley's tail poked at her shirtfront, looking for ingress into her bosom. “I am wearing a _bra_ , demon. One of the big ones. With a zipper. Give it up.”

Snakes, Aziraphale then learned, could look dejected.  
“Never mind,” she comforted. “I'll change into something nicer after I'm done. The blue silky one? With the little rosettes? You always like that one.”

Crowley visibly brightened, and Aziraphale wondered when she'd learned to read snake body language.

“Well, since you seem determined, you can come along,” she said, and patted Crowley's head before snapping her fingers to take care of the breakfast dishes, and tackling the day's work.

They had worked well together getting the first coat of paint on the walls, Crowley taking the lower half so they could sit in a chair and Aziraphale handling the upper half, running up and down a ladder as needed to get to the fiddly bits where wall met ceiling, and where the dado rail ran.

She was adding a second coat of paint, standing quite carefully on the ladder well below the top rung, when a little snake tail wrapped around a spare brush, dipped it in paint, and started to work beside her.

“Crowley!” She giggled and paused, watching them for a moment. They...weren't much worse than she was with her human hands, she had to admit. “You don't have to do this, sweetheart.”

Crowley ignored her, carefully painting the rail and freeing her up to handle the bits above and below it with a roller.

“Well, thank you,” she said politely. “This is very kind of you.” And it was. It also meant less time she had to spend on a ladder, and much less leaning, a fact that she didn't miss. Crowley was mostly recovered from her frightening tumble – so was she, for that matter – but they were both still cautious around ladders.

“Oh, my dear,” she said suddenly, softly. “Is that why you came in here with me? In case I fell again?”

Crowley was, of course, naturally silent anyway, but they were _particularly_ silent in that moment. Rather pointedly so.

Aziraphale didn't wish to embarrass them, so it was a quiet vow she made to herself to hug and kiss Crowley properly when they were next human. And also to redouble her watchfulness. Crowley took perfect care of her; the least she could do was look after them in return, and she was still bloody angry at herself for letting Crowley take a little tumble and hurt their foot with a paving-stone.

So she held her peace, and together she and Crowley continued painting the bedroom, the snake helping out with the detailed bits, growing and extending and so good with the paintbrush that Aziraphale only had to run up and down the ladder every few feet, and didn't have to lean sideways hardly at all. When she was on the ground and there was less for Crowley to do, they settled quietly on her shoulders, a comforting weight and a promise that Crowley was right there, always.

So the morning passed quickly and pleasantly, all the windows open of course to air the room out and bring in the summer sweetness on the breeze. Aziraphale found great satisfaction in painting the walls, watching the pretty sage green go on true over the drywall they had hung together. When they were done, every inch of the bedroom would be theirs down to the bones of the house.

“Ow!” She looked at Crowley, startled out of her thoughts, because they had _bit_ her. Well, nipped. There was a small red mark on her wrist, and she showed it to them. “What was _that_ for?”

Crowley's tongue flicked out, and of course the mark – and the tiniest of little stings that had gone alone with it – vanished. They were still partly coiled around one of her biceps, and gently headbutted first her mouth, then her stomach.

“Are you telling me to go get lunch?” Aziraphale asked, extremely charmed despite herself.

A little headbob, and she sighed, and petted them with a finger first carefully made paint-free. “You're awful, you know.”

Crowley looked utterly unconcerned by this. As well they should be, she reckoned, and she smiled and petted the beautiful coils around her arm. “All right. I suppose I've worked my half-day too, hmm?”

A _very_ stern look from the snake confirmed this.

“You know, darling, reptiles aren't really supposed to communicate emotions that well,” she commented.

Crowley took the information in the spirit of scientific knowledge, e.g. something rather interesting to comment on but not actually influencing them or their life at all.

To keep the peace – and, in truth, she _had_ got almost all the painting done – Aziraphale showered quickly and changed into nicer clothes before settling down with a book. And, of course, indulging in a few select nibbles. As promised, she had put on a softer, prettier bra, and changed into simple trousers and blouse, ready for an afternoon of ease. In the same spirit, Crowley had shrunk down to only a few inches long and curled up rather sweetly between her breasts.

Aziraphale thought that it might look cheeky and flirty to an outsider, and it was a bit, but mostly it felt good, she decided. Crowley wasn't going to get fresh with her; this was simply the softest, warmest place in her body they could comfortably settle, sheltered from the sun by her shirt but still able to soak up its warmth, to say nothing of her body's warmth too. It felt secret and safe, and she was glad to be able to protect her little snake, waiting out the pain of their human body.

“Love, can I bring you anything?” she asked softly, feeling tender and protective. “A little dish of water?”

Crowley simply curled further into her bosom, and she smiled indulgently. “All right, but I'll pour a little tea out into a saucer, all right? Just in case you get thirsty. Oh, you sweet little thing. I'm sorry I don't have more cushioning for you,” she said, and laughed. Her breasts were a bit small; she liked them that way, easier to change how her chest looked.

A little jab, and it was Crowley's tongue touching just over her heart. Crowley was perfectly happy where they were, and Aziraphale smiled down at them one more time before settling with her book. “Very well, I'll leave you be. I love you, Crowley.”

The tiny snake curled between her breasts shivered, and Aziraphale just smiled even wider, and took up her reading again.

That night, the air sweet with flowers, she miracled their bed into the garden and settled in, tucked under a light blanket and with Crowley curled up on the pillow beside her. “We had a good day,” she said, and giggled when a little tongue flicked out and touched her nose. “I think so, anyway. Look, I'll finish painting tomorrow at this rate, so shall I go on to scrub the kitchen? I'll wait to do anything more until you're in human form again, but that should get done first anyway. Fair?”

Crowley bobbed their head, and slithered across the pillow, wrapping loosely around Aziraphale's neck, a pretty necklace mimicking the one they had bought so recently.

“Pretty creature,” Aziraphale said absently. She rolled onto her back and gazed up at the night sky. It was a clear night, and the stars were infinite, beautiful jewels, and the sweep of the Milky Way made a sash for the bowl of a sky. Her breath caught in her throat, looking up, seeing the _depth_ of it all and feeling very, very small. And safe – who would care about one little angel, who wasn't very good at angel-ing, in this vast and quiet universe? No one would see her, and as immense as the love between her and Crowley was, it was as good as lost in these infinite depths. They could be left to themselves, which was all they'd ever wanted.

She reached up and touched the smooth, cool snakeskin. “Crowley? When you're, um, human again. Will you take me to Alpha Centauri? Just for a visit. But I want to see stars.” She stroked the jewelled scales. “You made that one, didn't you love?”

A touch of forked tongue on the softest part of her throat; a yes.

“I want to see the stars you made,” she said quietly. “Again. If...no, that dream was true, wasn't it? When I dreamed of us, before the Fall. Of course I watched you make stars; I would watch you do anything, and love you with all of me.”

She smiled up at the glittering night, and breathed the smell of roses and fruit beginning to swell to ripeness. “Perhaps we can make a star together...”

She was tired now, that must be it. Her eyes were even slipping shut. Silly angel who slept, and thought she could make stars, and wanted a little house in the country and also to see the stars her beloved had made. Such a foolish angel....

Aziraphale must have dreamt the feel of Crowley's arms around her, of their familiar voice, whispered in her ear. “We'll make a whole galaxy. I'll take you anywhere you want to go. I love you.”

She smiled, and slept until the morning chorus woke her.

Crowley stayed a snake for three more days. They remained Aziraphale's constant companion of course, coiled around her neck or her arm or nestled in her bosom. She finished painting their bedroom, but promised not to move anything in until Crowley could help her and pick where they wanted their things. It was the matter of another day to scrub the kitchen from top to bottom, and dream a little about what changes would need to be made, which lead to Aziraphale sitting in the garden with a small book and pencil, listing things she wanted changed. She was cuddled in the roots of a great oak tree, though of course she'd also brought a nice cushion out with her as well.

“Of course, we'll talk it over,” she said, smiling at Crowley dozing in the sunshine. “Pretty danger noodle.”

An _extremely_ indignant little head popped up, and Aziraphale grinned. “ _That_ got your attention. You are very pretty, dearest, you can't blame me for saying so.”

Crowley flopped back down with a teeny-tiny _whumph_ , and Aziraphale checked her list over, found it complete enough for the moment, and flipped to a new page.

The sun beat down deliciously warm, even filtered through the great boughs of the tree. She'd felt _very_ daring wearing quite a revealing top, a chemise really. It was a pretty white silk that skimmed over her chest and stomach, cut low over her bosom, and it felt wonderful. “And besides, no one's going to see me in our garden except you,” she had told Crowley when she changed into it. They had made a little tiara of themselves among her curls, and the effect was awfully fetching.

She'd smiled when Crowley's head came down her cheek, mirroring their tattoo in human form, and little snake-kisses were dotted on her face. “Oh, you,” she'd said, but she had felt a little prouder in her pretty top and a long skirt. Very modern for her, but, well, it was a season for growing, wasn't it?

And as warm as it was, she was glad to be quite comfortable. Idly, she began to sketch Crowley in the grass, catching their coils and the soft leaf shape of their head. Aziraphale wasn't much of an artist, but little matter – no one would ever see this, and it pleased her to catch the moment with its soft sun and birdsong and the smell of heat and grass and sky.

The third day she read the morning away, then walked to the village for lunch, and felt soft and full of waiting. Crowley rarely stayed a snake for long lately; the pain usually passed in a few days. So she wasn't impatient, and she wasn't lonely exactly – Crowley was still right there! But it was different, and she enjoyed it, but also knew she would look forward to having human-Crowley back again, and getting hugs and kisses.

Aziraphale smiled as she let herself back into the house, hanging her hat up by the door. “You've spoiled me,” she called, knowing Crowley was about somewhere.

“That's always been the point,” came a call from the great hall, and Aziraphale laughed and ran in from the foyer to see Crowley doing their very best boneless lounge, assisted by the Eames chair they had put in place all those weeks ago.

“Darling!” Aziraphale threw herself into Crowley's arms, knowing she'd be caught, and of course she was, by a laughing demon who kissed her all over her face.

“Hello again,” she said, and kissed back. “Do you feel better, love?”

“Much,” Crowley assured her. “Still a bit not sure what hips are, but I'm not in any pain.”

“Good,” Aziraphale said, and hugged them tightly. “I love you so.”

“I love you too, angel-girl,” Crowley said softly. “I'm sorry I had to change.”

“Don't you dare be,” she said curling up in their lap, petted and indulged. “I'd give anything to have you not hurt. Having a snake for a best friend for a few days is not a sacrifice.” She smiled and kissed them again. “I did miss this, mind. Like I said, you've spoiled me.”

“I bloody well hope so,” Crowley said. “If this is what you call spoilt. Oh – he/him pronouns please, angel?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale cupped his cheek in one hand. She smiled, and studied his face. “Oh, you do look different when you're male – just a hair, but it's there.”

Crowley nodded, and kissed her cheek. “You like?”

She made a little noise with her teeth. “Fishing for compliments? You know I think you're very handsome, darling.” She laughed when Crowley drew her back into his arms, the chair rocking back a little and cradling them both. She was wearing a pretty summer dress, knees out and everything, and one of Crowley's hands curled under her thigh, holding her safe and sound against the world.

They got nothing done that afternoon – hardly surprising. It was much more fun to sit in their bright, spacious house and admire one another and kiss and cuddle. Crowley miracled up tea for them so they wouldn't go wanting for anything, and Aziraphale ate still cuddled on his lap, feeling ridiculously indulged.

“This is very pretty,” Crowley said, touching the hem of her dress.

“Thank you. I've had it for ages, but it didn't _quite_ fit right when I had a man's body,” Aziraphale said, and fed Crowley a bit of cake. “I rather like this body, you know. Think I'll keep it for a few centuries.”

Crowley smiled and kissed her hand, not missing her ring of course. “I like this body too. Then again, I like any body you're in.”

Aziraphale laughed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, going in for another snuggle. “Likewise. Oh – do you want to go out tonight or anything? Dinner?”

Crowley shook his head. “Not especially. Only – would you groom my wings? Help me, I mean, there's always bits I can't reach.”

“Oh, Crowley, of course!” She hardly _ever_ got to return this favour, and it would be so lovely. “Shall we put the bed in the garden again? And have wine. And you can just relax, love, let me take care of everything.”

Crowley laughed and kissed her cheek. “All right, then, if you like.”

“Very much.” Aziraphale gave a happy little wiggle. “You might have to talk me through anything special, but I can do the basics, I promise.”

“Oi, I never doubted that,” Crowley assured her. “Just didn't want you automatically getting stuck with more chores. But if you're sure you don't mind...”

“ _Crowley_.” She sat up, hands on his shoulders. “No. Our side doesn't work like that. If you can't work, or need to stay in bed, or _anything_ , that does not mean that I am 'stuck with' the chores.” She deliberately softened her voice. “What about those times I was too sad to get out of bed? Were you stuck with anything then? You tended the shop and brought me food.”

Crowley's jaw dropped. “Dirty play,” he accused.

“No,” she said patiently. “Not. We take care of each other, my love. I know we didn't say vows, but that's what these mean just the same,” Aziraphale said, touching Crowley's ring.

Crowley's jaw worked.

“All right,” he finally said. “I'll give you that.” He sighed, and looked her full in the face and _oh_ , his eyes were so sad. Her Crowley, her love, she held his hands and let him share his heart with her.

“I still feel...bad, about it,” he said slowly. “Because I miss the good stuff too. And you _do_ do extra work. I want to make things easier for you, when I can.” He smiled, and touched her cheek. “And you haven't been so sad you take to your bed in years, angel. So that's out, and I'm glad of it. But please – give me a chance to make up for what I miss?”

“That I can do,” Aziraphale agreed. “Oh, love, do you miss out on so much when you're a snake?”

Crowley shrugged. “Hugging you. Kissing you. Having a proper conversation.” He smiled a little. “Things I can't do with a paintbrush held in my tail.”

She giggled and kissed his cheek. “Fair enough. I miss those things too, but I don't miss _you_ , if that makes sense. You're right there with me. And I know if I needed you, _really_ needed you, if I got hurt or something, you'd change right away.”

“So fast you wouldn't even know it,” Crowley promised her, and tapped the end of her little snub nose. “Beautiful. Come and let me hug you some more, then you can have a go at my wings.”

Aziraphale grinned and lay down against him again, snuggled and loved and petted to her heart's content.

She was struck sometimes, by what it would be like if the her of only ten years ago or so could see her now, let alone a hundred years, or a thousand. That poor Aziraphale had no idea how much they were adored, or how sweet life could be, for all that they had been happy in their own way.

They were easy with one another, almost never out of reach, and Crowley did the honours as the sun set. Their bed was miracled to the garden, a small table with a bottle of champagne and two glasses next to it. And of course his clothes vanished and he flopped happily facedown on the mattress, his wings coming out. They stretched beautifully and settled across the bed, the wingtips reaching the floor on either side.

Aziraphale sat beside him, at first only stroking the soft skin between his wings, drinking her fill. Crowley was _beautiful_. Long, lean body, his hair grown out a little; long enough now to be tousled red locks curling against the soft skin of his neck. Freckles that danced across his shoulders courtesy Aziraphale's kisses on a little snakey back; he'd have more on his cheeks and nose tomorrow as they came up, then faded away in a day or two. Strong arms arced over his head, and his legs stretched out long and lean and gorgeous. One hip turned funny, and Aziraphale helped him shift to be a little more comfortable, a little more supported. She kissed his lower back, gave him one more worshipful look, and got to work.

For all that Aziraphale was pretty blasé about her own wings, she did know how to take care of them. Mostly it was things Crowley had shown her or done to her wings, but she knew the basics, of course. And she knew what felt best, and went about that just then, taking each wing in turn and moving from where it rooted to Crowley's back, the muscles strong and thick, out to the most delicate wingtip.

Aziraphale worked slow and easy, humming a little to herself until she found the rhythm of it. Crowley didn't fall asleep as his wings were groomed – that genuinely seemed to be a trait that was unique to her – but he did get easy and sweet, helped along by the champagne.

“How long d'you think it'll be, until we don't remember a time we weren't together?” he asked suddenly.

Aziraphale smiled. “You're going all doolally. _And_ romantic. Crowley, what's to be done with you?”

“Give us a kiss,” Crowley suggested, and of course he got one.

Aziraphale went back to her work, clever fingers slipping feathers into alignment, and scratching where it always itched the worst. A little pouf of down was freed and she grinned in delight, then turned her thoughts to Crowley.

“If I take you at precisely what you're saying – I _don't_ remember a time we weren't together. Everything before the Wall is quite fuzzy, you know. I remember it, but if I try to think on it, it just...glides away.”

“Really?” Crowley actually propped himself up on one arm and peered up at her.

“No,” she said softly after a moment. “I remember fighting. I led a platoon.”

“Oh,” Crowley said quietly, and lay back down.

“Do you remember it?” she asked. “No, wait, hold on a moment.” A feather had grown in wrong, would never be right. “Love, I should pull this out, is that all right?”

Crowley craned around, saw what she was talking about, and nodded. “Go ahead, angel.”

“I'll make it quick,” she promised. “On three, darling. One. Two.” And as she said 'three', she gripped the poor feather hard and pulled, then healed the wound left an instant later. “All done, sweetheart.”

Crowley had gasped a little, but a hand on his back showed he had relaxed again right away. “I'm sorry,” Aziraphale said. “It wasn't – it would just have hurt you.” She _hated_ pulling feathers out.

“No, no, I understand.” Crowley groped for her where she sat just next to his hip, a wing across her lap, and patted her knee. “Not everything's a metaphor, darling.”

“Hah. Then I'll go back to my question. Do you remember the War?”

“Yes,” Crowley said. “Well, mostly I remember Falling.”

“Oh.”

Aziraphale worked for a long time in silence. As silent as their garden ever got, with birdsong and crickets and the general hum of the earth well-treated. An owl even flew overhead, startling her into a little gasp.

Crowley's wings were fairly well-kept, but it was sweet to smooth and straighten them as night fell around them. Aziraphale kept their glasses topped up and kindly miracled little lights to cast a warm glow about their bed, painting Crowley in shades of gold and shadow. They were quiet, but it was a good quiet, broken by the clink of glass on glass, or the soft shuffle of bedclothes as Crowley shifted. Aziraphale finished with one wing and crawled over her darling to get to his other wing. It was delicious, to move the smooth, beloved feathers into place, to scratch until Crowley groaned with pleasure, and to clean away the occasional broken feather or bit of dirt somehow picked up.

When she finished with the outer surface of his wings, Aziraphale helped Crowley turn over and get settled again. She slipped a pillow under his head and rested a hand on his tummy, just under his ribs.

“Hullo, you,” she said with a smile, and leaned over to kiss him. “Am I doing all right?”

“Wonderful,” Crowley assured her with a delicious stretch. “Sorry 'm quiet. You're really soothing.”

“I am?” Aziraphale went a bit pink, and couldn't stop a sweet smile. “Oh, good. Good, then.”

“Hey, c'mere.” Crowley pulled her into a hug. “You're good at this.”

“I had a good teacher,” she pointed out, and kissed him. “I'm fine, you worrying old thing. Let me finish, and then we can snuggle and fall asleep together.”

“Perfect,” Crowley said, and stretched his wings out again, sighing and cracking his neck at the same time.

Aziraphale just smiled and went back to work, smoothing and straightening the feathers on the inner surface of his wings. She was more careful here; there was something more vulnerable about this. The feathers here were smaller and thinner and softer, and Crowley's skin, pale and thin, was less protected.

Aziraphale was as gentle as she could be. Her touch was whisper-soft over the callouses of bone where Crowley's wings had been broken and healed in his Fall. _Her side_ (though no longer her side) had done this to him, the being who loved her most in the whole world. Crowley was no saint, but he had only ever _asked._ No one deserved that kind of pain, least of all her gentle demon.

Aziraphale pondered as she smoothed the barbs on a particularly messy feather. How many questions had Crowley ever asked her? Thousands, maybe millions. She hoped she'd answered them all. Not always truthfully, and that was her sin to make good, but she hoped she'd always at least _answered_. Crowley deserved answers.

“Are you all right?” Crowley asked softly. “You seem sad.”

Aziraphale gave herself a little shake, and then considered the question. “Not sad,” she said, crawling over Crowley's narrow hips to attend to his other wing. “Thoughtful. Meditating on the past. But not sad, I promise.” She leaned over and kissed him. “I'm doing one of my favourite things, with one of my favourite people. Will you hold me when we fall asleep tonight, please?”

“'Course, angel.” Crowley yawned and smiled up at her. The champagne was long gone, so the bubbles in her blood were all him.

Aziraphale smiled back and returned to her work. He had told her once that one of the punishments of hell was to rip a demon's feathers out, and since then she was always careful to telegraph her touches, and of course to not pull out a feather unless it was going to cause more pain if left. So things maybe took a little longer, but it wasn't as though either of them would complain. Longer time with her hands buried in soft black feathers was _just_ fine with Aziraphale.

She finished up, and Crowley's wings were smooth and gleaming in the low light. He sat up to admire them and tuck them away, and snapped his fingers to get them both into pyjamas.

“Oh for...” Aziraphale laughed, looking at herself. It was the short linen nightie again, the one that just barely covered her bottom when she stood. “You're _awful_.”

“Demon,” Crowley said, and grinned. “I had the best mattress in the world for a few nights' running, angel, snoozing on those beautiful thighs. I get to enjoy you like that in _this_ form too, right? Please?”

“Like I can tell you no,” Aziraphale grumbled, climbing under the covers. Honestly, the way the dress shucked up around her waist, she might as well wear nothing.

Crowley just laughed and pulled her into his arms, kissing her forehead. He was in his usual black silk pyjamas, of course. It was intended to be sexy and expensive, but mostly came off looking adorable, slightly oversized, and rumpled.

Aziraphale snuggled close, head on Crowley's shoulder and arms around his waist, feeling unbelievably cherished. They'd go back to work tomorrow and she looked forward to it, but this night had been a gift, a chance to do for Crowley, to tend him and show him maybe half a percent of the friendship and love and tenderness he'd shown her.

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear. “You're so kind to me. What have I done to deserve such kindness?”

“Silly,” Aziraphale murmured. “All you ever had to do was exist. Fell in love with you. Took care of you. Got married t'you. All 'cause you're you.”

“Oh, angel.” Crowley pressed a long kiss the top of her head, and they fell asleep like that under the blanket of sky.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of forewarning: There is some serious hurt/comfort in this chapter, with major injuries to both Crowley and Aziraphale. They last briefly; in-universe they aren't hurt for more than a few minutes, and are healed completely. (And the whole passage is just a few paragraphs long.) There's some light description of their injuries, but nothing too graphic I think, and of course they comfort and care for one another extensively afterwards, with the love and support and tenderness you'd expect.

Putting a room back together was rapidly becoming Aziraphale's most and least liked thing about fixing up their house. There was the immense satisfaction of a job that was done and dusted, of walls that weren't about to fall in on them (and which were hardly wonky at all), and were a pleasing colour. Of windows washed and gleaming, sashes thrown up and the summer air streaming in, the sun lighting up corners of the room they hadn't considered before.

She and Crowley stood in the middle of the room, and miracled the furniture around. There was no point in exertion, and Crowley was still on two crutches anyway. (They were the usual matte black today, which Aziraphale thought a little gloomy, but it _did_ look awfully fetching against his dark red shirt and black jeans. He had cuffed the shirt just below his elbows, and she had blushed just looking at him, her handsome man. Aziraphale was quite aware she deserved the teasing she got when Crowley noticed. In revenge, she had put on her butchest outfit. The trousers had a loop for a hammer and everything!)

“Bed in the usual place?” she suggested, and Crowley agreed.

“No early sun to wake us,” he said happily.

“Thought you didn't mind, after seeing you this morning,” she said, but also did the honours. They'd spent the night, clear and warm, in the garden. Crowley had awakened with the dawn, but had done surprisingly little grumbling. This might have been due to the naked angel in bed with him, and the way she kissed him awake and let him rest his head on her bosom while she caressed his back and shoulders and agreed that yes the sun was _very_ awful indeed and would you like another kiss to leaven the agony of being awake on a beautiful summer morning, darling?

He would.

Crowley put his wardrobe in the usual spot, giving it pride of place in the room for being the work of art that it was, but Aziraphale switched her things up a bit. She put her vanity close to Crowley's wardrobe to catch the lovely soft light in that part of the room, and to be near him as she did her toilette. Her plainer wardrobe was exiled to a bright but out-of-the-way little nook created by an oriel window, and she set her carved screen up so that she could dress with privacy. Well, from the room – there was still a bank of windows, but light, gauzy curtains took care of them.

“Awww,” Crowley said, and he looked so genuinely sad that she sighed, snapped her fingers, and added a comfortable chair so he could sit and talk with her while she dressed.

“I love you, angel,” Crowley said, when he'd figured this out, and they paused for a little kiss. Aziraphale slipped her arms around Crowley's waist, careful of knocking into his arms, but he was steady and strong, and she kissed him again.

He nuzzled her cheek, and they smiled at each other, and Aziraphale felt safe and loved and so, so good. Another quick kiss, and it was back to work, her arms sliding free of him as they turned their attention to the fireplace across from their bed.

And now the bit that was her least favourite part. Or maybe her most favourite: bickering over their shared space.

“We've got to each have a chair,” Aziraphale said, and that was agreed to readily enough. “They should match,” Aziraphale continued.

Crowley made a face. “Eurgh. _Aziraphale_ , don't stick me in some winged monstrosity,” he begged.

“I think they're quite comfortable myself,” Aziraphale said stiffly. “But all right, what would you like?”

Crowley grinned and snapped his fingers.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Aziraphale said. There was black leather, and shiny bent wood. And organic modern lines and _no_. They could compromise better than this.

“Just sit in yours,” Crowley begged. “They're really comfortable!”

“It looks like it would break under me,” Aziraphale said nervously. She wasn't, actually, a complete modern philistine. She knew that furniture like this was designed to appear to float in space, to use form and negative space to create beauty. She also knew that it was intended for thin, attractive people to do fashionable things in. This was a Gabriel chair _all over_.

“Hey, no.” Crowley's voice was _so_ gentle, and oh _brilliant_ , she'd ruined a good bicker, too. “Angel. _Love_.”

The rare endearment startled her into looking up, meeting Crowley's eyes. He had abandoned any attempt at an iris long ago, of course, and his snake-eyes were wide and beautiful and expressive, and held her gaze...

No, not like a snake held its prey. Never like that; she had never felt that way. He just wanted her attention, and he loved her, and she softened a little.

“I would never, ever do that to you,” Crowley said gently. “I promise. Look, we don't have to keep these – but will you sit, please, just to try it out? It's really nice, I promise.”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “All right, but you must join me in your chair.”

“Fair enough.” They walked the short distance together and settled down. Crowley had cleverly set his chair so it was easy to prop his crutches against the side of the fireplace – which also put him close to the cozy warmth in winter, two things Aziraphale thoroughly approved of.

She settled down dubiously and...it was all right. The chair cradled her in a slightly odd way, but it wasn't _uncomfortable_. On the other hand, Crowley eased down with a happy sound, and Aziraphale watched him relax immediately, his hips and back well-cradled, and plenty of room to sit with one leg flung over an arm or whatever else he might want to do. He was so comfortable, and her heart would break to ask him to switch, just for her aesthetic sense.

“Well?” He grinned at her, lounging and gorgeous, and she smiled back.

“They are comfortable, but it's not quite right.” She held up a hand when he went to snap his fingers. “No. It's perfect for you, my dear, and you're not to change a thing. I have an idea.”

She snapped her fingers, and offered her compromise. Crowley's spot of course unchanged, but her own chair a much more classic, comfortable, worn-in old armchair. It was a little taller and supported her posture rather than fighting it, but was upholstered in black linen with the same pale wood frame. So they matched – in their own way.

“Angel!” Crowley grinned at her. “Oh, you clever thing. 's not quite right, though.”

“What's wrong with it?” Aziraphale asked, a little indignant.

“Nothing, darling.” Crowley snapped his fingers, and she had a pretty little matching ottoman – embroidered in the petit-point roses she liked so much. And a blanket lay over the back of the chair in her tartan. It was a lovely soft cotton, and she suspected it would turn to wool when colder weather set in. She rarely got chilly enough to want such things, but when she did – well, it was so nice to have it right there. And it would be handy to throw over a napping snake.

“Oh, Crowley!” She laughed and put her feet up, and settled with a sigh. “Oh, you're right, that's much better.”

“My girl doesn't go wanting,” Crowley said gently, and they smiled at one another.

“We should have a sofa, or a loveseat too,” Aziraphale said firmly. “In case we want to sit together.”

“Of course,” Crowley agreed, and this set them off on a truly first-rate bicker, first about what would fit in their rapidly-filling bedroom, then what would fit _them_ (neither wanted anything particularly spacious, it turned out, so that at least was resolved), and then of course how soft it should be and what colour, until Aziraphale finally made a frustrated sound, snapped her fingers, and transported the loveseat from her bookshop, dust and chintz and saggy cushions intact.

“Well, it's been good enough for us so far,” she said.

Crowley, who had been holding out for something involving chrome, even smiled. “I kissed you for the first time on that sofa.”

“So you did,” Aziraphale said, going soft. Softer. Somehow. “Shall we try it out?” She stood and went over to Crowley, offering him her arm for the few steps to the sofa.

“I think we've rather got to. After you went to the trouble of leaving the old-book smell,” Crowley said.

“ _And_ that stain from when you spilled your tea,” she reminded him, helping him stand up.

“Not to mention the crumbs. Some of those crumbs date back, oooh, to Victoria at least,” Crowley reminisced. He limped, his hips and knees refusing to move quite as they should, but Aziraphale took his weight easily, kind without being solicitous. Besides, it was only a few steps until she was helping him to sit down, and then taking her spot beside him (always beside him, for all of their days), their bodies coming together. Crowley held onto her so tightly, and she rocked back a little, easing into the comfortable cushions so they tangled together and he could kiss her, and kiss her again, and she could kiss back, their mouths opening and tasting each other.

He laid a hand against her face and she giggled, turning to kiss the palm. “I think this will do us here.”

“Indeed,” Crowley agreed. “We'll move it as we do – when we visit the bookshop, I mean.” He kissed her, and kissed her again. “Aziraphale, I love you.”

“And I love you, darling,” she said softly. “Crowley, look at our bedroom. It's beautiful.”

“I'll look in a minute,” he said, obviously looking at her, eyes huge and just a little unbelieving.

Aziraphale just smiled, and drew him down for a few more kisses.

They did, eventually, after a long time, get up from the sofa. Crowley made a few adjustments, and so did Aziraphale, but they agreed that things were generally as they liked them, and the bedroom would serve them well.

The kitchen was the next project – not a room they would use over-much, but good for a quick meal, or a long cup of tea. “And we need a place to keep the wine,” Crowley pointed out sensibly, so Aziraphale added that to her list. They planned, and argued some more, and Crowley, who had somehow done some research, threw around words like 'p-traps' while Aziraphale countered with 'butcher block kitchen islands', and so their kitchen was planned.

“There's no point in heavy renovations,” Aziraphale finally admitted. “We never used yours, and I don't technically _have_ a kitchen.”

“Do you even know how the Aga works?” Crowley asked, taking advantage of this time of honesty.

“Not in the slightest. You, darling?”

“Nope,” Crowley said happily. “Which reminds me – go out tonight?”

“Oh, please?” Aziraphale asked, rather pleased with the thought. “Indian?”

“Of course,” Crowley said. “Whatever you like. How about the place that does Balti?”

“Oh, yes!” Aziraphale sighed happily, dreaming of chilis searing her tongue. They would do a milder version for Crowley, of course – poor dab, he never really learned to like spice.

“Perfect,” Crowley said happily, doodling obscene things on the edge of their shopping list. “Could use a good drive.”

Feeling generous, Aziraphale offered that they could leave a bit early and make a proper drive of it.

“Oh, _yes_.” Crowley lit up. “I've missed the car.”

“More than you missed me?” Aziraphale asked, trying to hide a smile and failing utterly.

“Well....” Crowley grinned, wide and cheeky. “I mean, I did sleep on your thighs every night, angel.”

“Next time I'm putting you in a terrarium,” Aziraphale threatened idly, wondering how soon she'd regret her generous offer. Crowley _did_ drive so very fast, and so recklessly! At least out here in the country they'd be less likely to hit a person. Aziraphale could miracle a cow right back to life with no trouble at all, and resurrecting a sheep was actual child's play, but healing humans with their memories and thinking brains and things was quite another matter altogether.

“You never would,” Crowley said, with the immense confidence of a demon loved by an angel. Aziraphale was so glad to hear it, she kissed him twice. And then erased all his dirty drawings – they had to take that list out in _public_.

But not that day; much better to plan a few more things out, decide on a breakfast nook (mostly for Aziraphale, who did like a cup of tea and a pastry to start the day), populate it with a pretty little table and chairs, and repair to the garden to enjoy the rest of the day. Aziraphale read, her feet daringly bare and wiggling in the grass, and Crowley threatened the fruit trees, weeded the tomatoes, and circled back regularly to ogle Aziraphale.

She dressed for supper, trying out their bedroom's new layout. Crowley, of course, sprawled on the chair she'd put in place for him, talking bollocks about something or other and gesturing wildly, a rather sweet background hum while she regarded her wardrobe, kind enough to give him a show in her bra and knickers. She decided on a lovely cream linen suit and pale blue shirt, cut wide in the legs and meant to minimize her bust giving her, she thought, a lovely butch silhouette.

She added a waistcoat of buff linen, made to match her old velvet one, but of course cooler for the warm summer night, and cut to her figure. She shot her cuffs (adorned with pretty mother-of-pearl cufflinks), adjusted her cravat, and smiled at her reflection, seeing the gold gleaming off of her rings. Her halo, of course, but more importantly the ring Crowley had found for them, the physical thing that told the world they were bound together.

Crowley smiled at her, lazy and loving. “Ready to go, angel? We can stop along the way for a drink if you like.”

“I think I would like that very much,” she said. It was a bit early, but of course she'd promised him a long drive in the country. “You look handsome,” Aziraphale added, because he did, all long sleek limbs, little gold rings in his ears and a matching chain that nestled at his throat.

“Thanks, angel,” Crowley said politely, and pulled her down into his lap for a snog. “You do too,” he said, and she laughed and gave him his kiss. “C'mon,” he said. “Our handsome car awaits.”

“You are awful,” she sighed, and followed him out to the Bentley, hoping she wouldn't regret her generosity _too_ much.

She did, of course. Crowley drove too fast along winding country roads, whooping and playing music too loudly, and Aziraphale simply hung on and tried to enjoy the scenery. It _was_ a lovely summer night, and when she could open her eyes long enough to catch sight of a field or something, there was a distinct pastoral beauty. She never quite relaxed, of course, but it was...pleasant...to see Crowley having so much fun. Well, it was nice to know he was having fun with his bebop and his car and his leaving a wake of angry drivers, and she even relaxed enough to stop quietly screaming whenever they went up on two wheels. They had a drink in a pub with a lovely beer garden, which did nothing to settle her nerves, and went on to a wonderful dinner which actually _did_ settle her.

They were in high form over dinner, both of them easily slipping into sparkling conversation, heavily seasoned with shameless flirting. Crowley's visible use of crutches got them a few curious looks, which were met by a particularly terrifying steely gaze from Aziraphale that led to the recipients rethinking their reactions to the following: visible disabilities, the cultural and media erasure of desired and desirable people with visible and invisible disabilities, and what they had been taught as small children about staring.

Likewise, Aziraphale in all her full butch glory got _more_ looks, which were met by sudden and terrifying glares from Crowley, who obviously could glare through sunglasses, and led to the recipients rethinking _their_ reactions to the following: the social construction of gender, the long and glorious history of butches and studs, and their desire to continue their evening without the scary man staring daggers at them.

(There were a few people whose looks were more admiring to both of them. They all found that they had a lot more money in their checking accounts than they'd thought and full tanks of petrol. The high femme who smiled as her eyes lingered over Aziraphale then winked at Crowley was going to be _very_ lucky in dating that whole year. Also Crowley asked her the brand and colour of her lipstick, and very grateful he was too for her immediately understanding answer.)

So Crowley was grinning and easy as they headed off for home, and Aziraphale gentlemanly and gorgeous and feeling particularly sweet. Crowley had even remembered to put the headlights on!

Unfortunately, that meant Aziraphale could see exactly what happened. It was cats, of course, two of them – one white and fluffy and the other black and sleek as night, racing out onto the street. Crowley cursed and the great car slewed to one side to avoid them. Aziraphale saw them run into a garden, utterly untouched, before the world flipped upside down, too suddenly for either of them to do anything useful.

It seemed to take forever before the car stopped, and they stopped, because why would you wear a seatbelt if you could just use your demonic powers to avoid any sudden stops, or rolls or...whatever had just happened to the Bentley. And them. Aziraphale's eyes were still closed but she knew whatever had happened – it hadn't been nice. And if she was hurt, which, yes, she _very_ definitely was, then –

Crowley! Aziraphale opened her eyes and turned her head, ignoring how that sparked off a rather new and definitely intense pain, to join the other pain in her body she was becoming aware of. “Crowley,” she whispered, and licked her lips, tasting blood.

“Fuck. Fuck, angel, fuck,” Crowley gasped, and of course he was right beside her, always. He groaned, and moved, and made a small noise of pain, so that was going to have to be sorted before anything else. Crowley wasn't allowed to be in pain, Aziraphale was _quite_ clear on that, and oh, oh poor love. Her poor love.

She reached out and oh, that hurt too. That hurt a lot, but she could touch his leg and concentrate, and she always had had a knack for a good healing miracle. He needed one, or several, and she lost herself a little in the working, of mending a broken shoulder, tracing down and healing a few other fractures, and that terrible tear in his thigh muscle, healing too many painful cuts, soothing the pain she found.

“ _Aziraphale_.” Crowley's voice called her back to herself, and there was a soft glow in the car now. Aziraphale had the sinking suspicion that it was her that was glowing. And, oh, poor Bentley! – but Crowley should be able to repair it. He'd fixed the dent Anathema had put in the hood so easily!

“Aziraphale. Love.” Crowley's voice was breaking and she blinked at him, curious. “Sweetheart, please, I don't think I can heal you...”

She looked down and yes, that was definitely _her_ glowing. Unfortunately this meant that she could see why Crowley looked so terrified and sad, and also why everything hurt. “Oh,” she said. “That's not good at _all_.”

“N-no, angel. Angel, baby, love, please don't --” His voice broke again. “Don't leave me.”

“Crowley, of course not,” she said distantly, and fell into the soft and easy place where she could weave miracles, where she had all the time she needed. This would take it, too; goodness, she'd never _been_ so badly hurt. She mended shattered bones and oops, that's an important internal organ, better get it working again. Terrible gashes were unmade, and bloodstains cleaned away. She healed her own spinal cord and replaced some blood – awfully useful stuff, as long as it was inside one – and gave everything one last check over, including making sure her clothes were quite mended, and the ring Crowley had put on her finger was pristine again.

“That's better,” she said, and opened her eyes, a little startled to find herself in their bedroom, lying in bed. When had _that_ happened? Had it taken so very long?

“ _Angel_.” Crowley flung himself into her arms and she caught him of course, always, rubbed his back and oh. Oh, she was shaking too.

“It's all right,” she whispered. “We're both tickety-boo. I promise, Crowley. Not a scratch on you. Or me.”

“I'm sorry,” Crowley said and oh _no_ he was _crying_. She was useless when Crowley wept. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I let you get hurt, I didn't protect you and I'm so so sorry.”

“Oh, darling. Hush. Hush, no, you'll make yourself sick,” she scolded, rocking him while still shivering herself. “Everything's all right. You brought me home, love, and looked after me while I was getting myself back into shape.” She smiled at him, and kissed him, and kissed him again. “Is the car all right?”

“Is the –! Bloody Bentley! I! You!” Crowley dove at her again, and there was a distinct muffled scream made into her stomach. “Fuck the Bentley! Fuck the house and the bed and the whole bloody world and especially fuck _me_. You were so...I didn't know...”

“Oh, Crowley,” she said helplessly, and pulled him up and back into her embrace. “Hush. You don't mean any of that.”

“I do,” he mumbled.

“You're sex-repulsed, you don't want me fucking you,” she said calmly, and it worked. She had actually shocked him dumb.

“Love, it's all _right_ ,” she said again. “We went through a scary thing. You can wrap around me for the next week if you need to, and I'll hold you and kiss you the whole time. But you _must not_ blame yourself for an accident. Because that's what it was.” She stroked his hair, the soft strands now clean of sweat and blood and thank you, thank you, for keeping him from being hurt too badly, and for putting her right there to heal him. “I won't allow it.”

“Since when do I do what you tell me?” Crowley's lips curved in the tiniest smile. “I'm really scared, angel.”

“I know, Crowley. It's all right.” She kissed him, and kissed him again. “I'm scared too. I was...it wasn't good, was it?”

He shivered so hard she was afraid for him. “It really wasn't,” Crowley said, hiding his face in her neck for a moment. “You...fuck. I thought you wouldn't live long enough to heal yourself,” he confessed, voice shattered.

“Oh, _Crowley_. No, no, love. I stepped outside of time. I had forever if I needed it,” Aziraphale assured him. “How long did it take, by the way?”

“Maybe ten minutes.” He sniffled and she urged him to snuggle up close, head on her chest so she could kiss his hair and pet him and maybe not let go for a good couple hours. Days, at the most. “I got us home. Car's fine, by the way.”

“Good. I couldn't stand for you to lose her again,” Aziraphale said. “Could you, um, see what I was doing...?”

“Yes,” Crowley said.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “Well. Shit.”

The sudden profanity startled Crowley, and he laughed – weakly – and gave her a hug. “I love you. I think I forgot to say that. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, dearest.” Aziraphale sighed and held him close. “What an awful end to a lovely night.”

“It was a really lovely night,” Crowley agreed. “Until. Yeah.”

“Can you handle the miracles for a bit?” she asked softly. “I'm a bit burned out, I'm afraid.”

“Aziraphale, of course,” Crowley said, his voice tender, and oh, he must have been _really_ afraid. He pushed back just enough to smile at her, and kiss her forehead. “Let me do everything for you, angel.” He snapped his fingers and they were both in their oldest, softest pajamas. He helped her under the duvet and tucked her in with a little caress to her cheek. “Aziraphale, I love you. You even did your _hair_.”

“Well, I do have standards,” Aziraphale observed, and was pleased when he snorted a laugh. “Dearest, can you do me a favour?” She smiled winsomely and made her eyes big, all the transparently manipulative things that Crowley always ate up with a spoon.

“Anything, angel.” Crowley pushed himself up, eyes wide and serious. “Do you want some tea? Do you feel all right? Are you in any pain?” Oof. Perhaps right now was not the time for the old games.

“Yes, yes, and not at all,” Aziraphale assured him. “But Crowley – would you stay up with me tonight? Please? I don't want to be alone while you sleep.”

She reckoned this simple request was possibly the nicest, most welcomed thing she'd ever given him, at least going by Crowley's enthusiastic yes, and the hard hug she got.

“And you're all right?” She touched his cheek. “Promise me you'll tell me if anything hurts?”

He shook his head. “Right as rain. You do good work, angel. Now snuggle up and I'll take care of tea.”

She did as she was told, and Crowley snapped his fingers, manifesting a very cozy brown teapot and some heavy mugs. He scooted to the edge of the bed and poured her tea, added a splash of milk, and delivered it with a kiss.

“You are really ridiculous,” Aziraphale said as she snuggled down amid the pillows. “Thank you, though. This is wonderful.”

“Good.” Crowley gave the teapot a glare so it knew to stay piping hot, and settled at Aziraphale's side, rubbing her belly gently. “Promise me you healed yourself completely? I can go in and finish the job, at least.”

“I promise,” Aziraphale said. “Check for yourself, dear.”

Crowley smiled and closed his eyes, kissed her shoulder, and she felt the tingle of demonic magic all over her. It tickled, and she knew Crowley was being unbelievably careful, but it _tickled_ and tingled and felt bubbly and she giggled even with the sudden smell of a struck match in the air.

“All right,” Crowley said when he opened his eyes again. “Not a scratch on you.” He kissed her shoulder again, an ordinary human sort of kiss, and Aziraphale sighed and leaned against him. She could still see the world go topsy-turvy if she closed her eyes, but her Crowley was right there, arm heavy across her waist, and everything was all right. They were in their bedroom, done up exactly as they liked it, in their funny little house in the country.

“Let's not work tomorrow?” Aziraphale suggested.

“Absolutely not,” Crowley agreed. “Far more important things to do.”

Aziraphale smiled and caressed his cheek. “Like?”

“Breakfast in the garden. Lying in the grass together in the sunshine. Walking to the village for lunch, if you feel like it.” Crowley turned his head to kiss her hand. “Having fun with trying on clothes, both of us. Adorning you with your prettiest jewels, and you adorning me back. Cuddles and naps if you like, and a picnic dinner.”

“So many more important things to do,” Aziraphale agreed, and tucked Crowley a little closer against her side. “I love you, Crowley. Thank you. You brought me home and kept me safe, and you make me so happy.”

Crowley closed his eyes and shivered. “I. Um. Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe not right now, angel?”

“Not right now,” she promised, and tucked all her praise away for later, when it wouldn't be too raw for her poor demon. Tea done, Aziraphale set her mug aside and pulled him fully into her arms, the two of them snuggled close, safe as houses in their cozy bed.

So they passed the night, talking softly and making each other giggle, kissing and fussing over one another in the velvet-soft night.

The next day was as Crowley had described, with both of them staying in bed until quite late, tangled in each other and the duvet as Aziraphale made sure that Crowley would have plenty of freckles in the coming day, and Crowley simply kissed everywhere he could reach, challenging memories of Aziraphale so badly hurt with the reality of her soft skin glowing pink, her round belly and pretty breasts and arms, pale curls that tickled his nose, and how she wiggled so delightfully in his arms, her body easy and healthy and strong.

They dressed each other for the day, when they finally decided to get up. Another well-deserved little treat, they agreed.

“How butch are you today, love?” Crowley asked, standing in front of Aziraphale's wardrobe while she waited demurely, in pajamas and peignoir, seated nearby.

“Oh, middling,” Aziraphale decided, after a pause to think and to ogle Crowley's body. “Trousers, definitely. Everything else is gentleman's choice.”

“Yessss,” Crowley hissed quietly, and shifted to lean on a single crutch so he could pull a few things out of her wardrobe. He spent a frankly unseemly amount of time rooting around in her underwear drawer, Aziraphale privately thought, but well, one must make one's own fun, and anyway he'd given her half of what was in there. Which meant 50% of it was a delightful surprise. She wondered when he'd find the bra that was mostly just straps and lace, not actually covering anything up.

They swapped places so she could dress in a surprisingly practical bra and panty set, nice linen trousers the colour of sand, and a wonderfully tailored white blouse that showed off her figure – especially when, feeling a bit daring, she left the top two buttons undone. And ignored Crowley's wolf-whistle.

“And for you?” she asked, adding a simple necklace in muted tones to the ensemble.

Crowley shrugged. “Whatever.”

Aziraphale rolled her eyes, snapped her fingers – well it was _hardly_ a miracle – and hoped she'd done her best. Crowley was now wearing a silk tank top and a skirt cut above his knees in front and nearly to the floor in back, accompanied by giant chunky boots, all of it in black with various levels of shiny. She tilted her head and regarded him, and added jet studs in his ears. “Crowley, dearest, may I change the colour of your crutches?”

“Yeah, of course,” Crowley said, sounding a touch surprised and very, very pleased. Like she'd leave them out or ignore them or something silly like that, when they were the beautiful things that helped him do as he liked! Honestly, her demon. Some days she didn't know what to do with him.

Another snap of her fingers, and his crutches were a sparkly candy-red, striking against Crowley's dark clothes.

“Aziraphale!” He laughed and rose, going over to the full-length mirror to admire himself. “I didn't know you had it in you.”

“I've only known you six thousand years, and lived with you for several of those,” Aziraphale said dryly. “Can't imagine when I'd notice your very distinct fashion sense.”

Crowley grinned and turned this way and that, admiring his body, and the gleaming red and black of the whole look. “I adore it. Thank you.”

“Of course, dearest. Let's sit in the garden a bit, it's still nice out.” The sky was a soft grey, but no rain threatened, and indeed it was pleasantly cool when they stepped outside together.

They couldn't hold hands while they walked together, but Aziraphale had learned that it was no trouble to Crowley if she kept one hand at the small of his back, so at least they could have some kind of contact when they wanted it. And they very much wanted it that day.

The rain held off, so they spent much of the morning outdoors in the kind summer weather, surrounded by green and growing things. They made the short walk to the village for a late lunch, and came back so Aziraphale could read and Crowley could doze, head on her lap and one of her hands combing softly through his hair.

The clouds grew a deeper grey by mid-afternoon, so they took tea in their hall and watched the rains come in, cuddled together in a light, soft blanket on their sofa. The sky grew impressively dark, and Aziraphale laid her head on Crowley's shoulder, petted and spoiled, and the accident of the night before felt very, very far away.

“I love you,” Crowley said, and nudged her forehead with his nose so she'd look up, and get kissed. “My angel-girl, I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” she reminded him between kisses, squirming a little closer, all posture forgotten. She was normally quite good about such things – slumping was _uncomfortable –_ but it was sweet to tangle up with Crowley and his wild limbs that held her so strongly.

“Angel? D'you still want to see the stars?” Crowley asked, before kissing the soft, sensitive place under her ear.

“Oh!” Aziraphale gasped, sensation racing through her body. “Yes. Y-yes, please. Oh, do that again.”

Crowley chuckled, and did so, scooping one hand around her bum – well, as much of it as he could hold in one hand – and hauling her somehow ever closer. “We'll have to go true-form.”

“Oh, all right,” she sighed. “You'll have to stop making my body feel so good, though, you know.”

“Well, if I must.” One more openmouthed kiss to her throat, one more squeeze of his hand, and Aziraphale found herself gently ladled onto the sofa, still a little breathless.

“You're too good at that,” she said. “I'll never get my revenge.” She sat up straight and proper while Crowley cackled, one of his legs definitely _not_ supposed to move like that.

“That really doesn't hurt?” she asked, momentarily fascinated.

“It really doesn't,” he assured her. “Is it, um...do you not like seeing it?”

Aziraphale absolutely _pinned_ him with her look. “No. Never. I love your body, I love how you move and sit, and I love anything that helps you be comfortable and happy. Understood?”

“Understood.” Crowley grinned, moved into an even more improbable sprawl, and closed his eyes. “Right, meet you in the firmament, angel.”

“See you in a moment,” she promised, and closed her eyes, and gathered what was _her_. Of course her corporation was her too – the dear old thing, she really was very fond of it. And very glad that she'd been able to heal it fully, but there, the accident was past, and they were building memories on top of it, so it could join all the other memories of being hurt, distant and past and a bit fuzzy. Besides, now she was in a form that couldn't be hurt.

Aziraphale opened her eyes – all of them. The rings scribed with the sacred words of life flashed and began their dance, and some of her wings opened and some closed, and she blinked five hundred eyes, and it was good to be her truest self again.

There was a snake, its scales made of night with every colour to ever exist ribboned through them, and she caught her breath, for Crowley was _beautiful_. Breathtaking.

_Angel!_ The snake flowed towards her and she opened to him, wings spreading, rings parting, and he curled and curved his way over her, utterly unhurt because their essences never had hurt one another. 

She remembered the first time Crowley had seen her injured – a cut on her hand, a simple accident when they were very new to the world, and he'd immediately reached over, stanching the blood with his robe, and they had frozen in terror – what if Aziraphale's blood was like holy water? But of course it wasn't, and all was well, and they were both well.

And here, too, where she closed three dozen pairs of wings around Crowley, treasuring the snake now within her and a part of her, the two of them spinning across space. She sighed and giggled when Crowley coiled around her wings and his great cosmic tongue touched over an eye here, an eye there, her golden rings flashing again.

_Enough play_ , Crowley finally whispered, when he was fully entangled in her.  _I have to show you things._

Aziraphale couldn't speak like this, not the way Crowley could, but he could feel her love and readiness and curiosity, to see the stars he had made.

_Hold tight_ , he said, and began to swim them through the sky, the stars rushing faster and faster around them until they turned into ribbons of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cats, of course, are any of the GO cat AU's you prefer :)


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel a little like I ought to apologize for how long and sprawling the chapters are getting! (I won't. I just...yeah. These take time to read, and I so appreciate everyone who puts in that time.)
> 
> Note that in this chapter the word 'fat' is used as a descriptor for Aziraphale's body -- first negatively, and then very, very positively.
> 
> There is also a hint of body horror, when Crowley remembers their car accident, and watching Aziraphale heal herself. It is, I hope, pretty tame.

Aziraphale tumbled through the stars, thrilling to the speed and the excitement – angels _never_ travelled like this!

_All right there, love?_ Oh, her sweet snake; she was overwhelmed with love and bubbly laughter, and the way the snake within her wriggled, she knew Crowley could feel it.

_Good girl_ .  _Nearly there_ .

Aziraphale was far beyond the structure of gender at the moment, but the silly little nickname warmed her. If Crowley was, eternally, her dear boy, would she always be his angel-girl? She suspected yes.

A distance that would take so many human lifetimes to cross barrelled by in minutes, the two of them hurtling through time and space and she didn't even know what. Angels, when they moved, treaded gracefully across the firmament.  _Not_ what she was doing now, which was whipping through a nebula with a whooping snake held within her – or perhaps she was within him. Crowley was firmly entwined with her, scales against wings and coiled about her finest, prettiest ring with the most flashing jewels. Good.

They slowed a little, and she became more aware of movement, and oh, oh, a terrible memory of being thrown about within the Bentley, but of course now she had no corporation to be hurt. And, more importantly, neither did Crowley.

_You're safe, love. I promise. I mean it this time, I'll keep you safe._

Oh, that was going to be a  _good_ argument for later. Aziraphale actually looked forward to it. Crowley always kept her safe! The nerve of the demon, to ever believe otherwise!

She tucked that away for when she had a voice, made sure he felt her warm affection, and they both lit up with joy as they slowed, parted, bounced through the heavens like rolling down a hill and landing in a pile of leaves.

Aziraphale thought she'd never stop giggling, her wings opening and closing, the rainbow of colours echoed in her eyes. She must be growing new ones, to see at every part of the spectrum. If she concentrated, she could see through time. There was always, at any time, a snake there with her.

Crowley flowed through space, perfectly suited to this place of dark and rainbow. He went over to two stars, grew even more immense, and flowed around them, outlining them in an infinity sign.

_MINE!_

Aziraphale, who had grown with him and now a size that could not be described in three dimensions, sighed in pleasure. The stars were ever so beautiful. She was so proud – it was  _her_ Crowley who had made these glorious twin stars, that held each other in orbit. The same being who had made those stars had helped a baby angel learn to walk. And had then asked an angel for shelter from rain. And still thought  _her_ beautiful. What an extraordinary universe it was. Aziraphale loved every atom of it.

_You're so happy, darling. I should have brought you here ages ago. Do you like it?_

Aziraphale tried to convey how proud she was, how much she loved the stars, and how yes, yes, she was so happy.

The snake uncoiled around the stars and flowed back, tasting her wingtips with his tongue.  _Let me show you another_ .

And they were racing through the heavens again, Aziraphale keeping pace even though Crowley was no longer coiled around her. If she'd had the ability, she would have shrieked with laughter. It was easier to be free without a body, she realized with a jolt.

Would she have always been like this, without that corporation?

She shook the stupid question off. Her fears and anxieties and worries weren't her body's fault. They were the fault of angels who never hid their disgust at her. At always doing something the wrong way and getting scolded for it, or beaten, or worse. They were the fault of cruel beings, and of the terrible things she'd seen on Earth, of war and disease and famine and death. And there  _was_ joy in her life! There always had been, and now it was a goblet spilling over. And anyway, her very correct fears had kept her safe, and kept her Crowley safe, so they weren't all bad.

And here she could laugh and gambol and tease her snake, slewing around him in a great arc, her powerful wings guiding her. She spread every wing, opened every eye, and let the solar winds catapault her across uncountable miles, flying through darkness to a point of light that was her love's creation.

A strong snake's tail grabbed her, their bodies tumbling wildly, and clever Crowley landed them with the star between their forms, pretty and small and perfect.

_This was the first one I made, I think._

Aziraphale tasted its history, and knew it was true. Her darling's firstborn, and she cooed over it, how little and pretty and perfect it was. Crowley was an artist. She cupped the star in her wings, shivering at the delicious burn, and then gently let it go.

They drifted, then, letting the universe spin around them, a still point on the axis that was everywhere. Lazily, Crowley coiled himself and uncoiled, and there was a soft pouf of colour, the collection of matter and mass that blossomed into rainbow-coloured gasses and dissipated.

Aziraphale let it drift past her wingtips, a little sad that it was so brief.

_I'm sorry, angel. You need a soul to make a star. Well, part of a soul._

Aziraphale was startled – well, why didn't he  _say_ ? She cupped two of her wings and closed most of her eyes, concentrating. A perfect summer day – that was a sweet piece of a soul to give up. She sifted through her memories and finally picked one. Long ago, when she was in Vienna. The weather was beautiful and the air sweet with flowers, she ate only fine foods and wandered and drank in all the beauty. A truly perfect day, a memory of pure happiness, and she excised it from herself, a tiny core of holy light, and gave it to Crowley.

_I can't! Angel, I can't take this from you!_

Well, it was a good thing she was giving it. She tried what Crowley had done, clumsy, pulling gasses and elements and things together, the piece of her soul at the heart of the star, but it just fell apart, and she winced when an arc of light hit her spinning rings.

_Oh, sweetheart, you were close. Here, I'll help you._ Crowley's cool scales slid across her, entwined with her again, and a broad head laid itself on one of her biggest, brightest wings. The eyes on that wing were a clear blue, not unlike her eyes in her human body – when the light was right. He called the elements to order, and spun a star anew, showing her how to interlink everything, and the bit of her soul at the centre of it all, the linchpin, the point of balance.

And there! In a soft flourish of light, in the sound of every symphony ever written, their star was born, flaming into existence, holding Aziraphale's sacrifice (the easiest she'd ever made) and Crowley's skill, and it burned in the heavens.

Aziraphale thrilled – she had made a star. With help, but she had  _done_ it! Cherubim weren't supposed to make stars, they were supposed to fight and guard, but she'd been terrible at that – well, all right, she'd done well enough, but she'd hated every moment – and now with Crowley, with the other half of her heart, they had made a star.

_It's beautiful. I didn't know I could still do that._

Aziraphale wrapped them both in soft wings, eyes blinking, Crowley held safe in her heavenly body. Of course he could still make stars. He was her brilliant demon, he could do anything.

_I needed you, though. Can't ever do it alone. Wouldn't want to._

He was so  _good_ to her, she whirled them through the universe, waltzing in the stars, until they came back to a pale blue dot, that held everyone they had ever loved besides each other.

_All your children are down there._ A soft coil of dark brushing against her rings.  _Can you feel how much they love you? How they treasure you?_

Of course Aziraphale did. And better than that, she felt how much they loved Crowley, laughed at him and treasured him and made sure he had hugs and kisses too, because he was good to them, and he deserved everything  _she_ got as their Guardian. And she tried to pass that love onto Crowley, easier in their true forms, and was rewarded with a shivery snake.

Aziraphale suspected that she shouldn't enjoy undoing Crowley quite so much as she did, but there you were. One must have one's little vices, after all.

They drifted in the heavens awhile, simply being together, and being not-human, but play was over. Aziraphale didn't miss the piece of her soul, exactly, but it did feel a little like – oh, a little cut, maybe one that needed a stitch or two. A sore spot to be careful of until it healed. And she could feel Crowley was tired, out of practice at making stars.

She cradled him in her wings and sang to him, and the stars, and the whole universe, the way she hadn't sung in eons, but which let him rest. Reminded him to be gentle with himself, and eased them both.

_Ready to go home?_

Always.

Crowley breathed deep, and remembered what it was to have lungs. He was sprawled in his body, remembering the whole limbs thing. Silly things, limbs. Why did he bother, again?

Well. He could hold Aziraphale more nicely than when he coiled around her, so maybe arms were of some use. Legs were still under consideration vis-a-vis their usefulness.

“My dear?”

Oh, right. Angel.  _His_ angel, who he'd made a star with, a part of her soul eternally burning away, and Crowley opened his eyes and tried not to startle.

“Oh dear, I know. Too many eyes,” Aziraphale said. She blushed prettily and looked down. All of her eyes looked down. The usual two, of course, pretty and wide and sweet, but there were a few more dotting her face and her arms.

Crowley wondered where else...but well, asking that question would just get him a huffy angel, so he let that one go. “Hey,” he said softly, and cleared his throat. “It's rather cute, actually.”

She blinked, all in unison, and looked up. “ _Crowley_ .” 

He smiled and reached out, tracing around a pretty purple eye on her cheek. “It is,” he insisted quietly. That one eye closed, tiny lashes against his fingers. “Oh, pretty angel-girl.”

“Stop it,” Aziraphale protested, but more eyes closed, and she leaned into his touch.

“C'mere for a cuddle,” Crowley said. “Er, if it won't hurt.”

“No, love,” Aziraphale said, and she leaned over, tumbled over really against him, and he wrapped his arms around her, trying to be gentle. He kissed next to the eye in the centre of her forehead, admiring the gold iris; like his, but not. 

She went so trustingly to him; a gift he'd never take for granted. And as she rested and came back to herself, the eyes slowly vanished, until she had just the usual two.

Crowley took account of himself as well. A few more scales than usual on his feet, and he never did bother with trying to fix his eyes when it was only Aziraphale around. Hips entirely out of joint – he might need help getting up and getting his legs sorted, but that was an issue for Future Crowley. No pain; good. He didn't fancy turning into a snake again to escape it, and it would hurt Aziraphale to see him miserable.

Also, big fluffy warm cuddly angel in his arms. That was a definite plus. The forever plus.

“Hullo there,” he murmured, when she started to stir. “You feel all right, angel?”

“Perfect,” she assured him, stretching a little and turning to kiss him sweetly. “You?”

“Fine, fine.” He smiled, hugged her, and let her up. “Shall I fix some tea?”

“Oh, would you?” Aziraphale grinned. “We can go and take it in the kitchen, and make more plans.”

“Whatever you want,” he promised her, and stretched. One leg seemed to be okay, he just helped the other one along, and there. One pair of crutches later and he was up and moving easily.

“Everything all right?” Aziraphale asked softly.

“'s fine,” he assured her. “Promise.”

“Good,” she said, and touched his back, and he tried not to melt. Aziraphale had worked _so hard_ to make sure he never missed out on her affections.

Crowley made her a pot of the really nice tea, and she carried it over to the little breakfast table and kindly poured for both of them, leaning over to steal a kiss as she handed his over.

“I love you,” she said quietly. “Thank you, Crowley. I have always envied those who made stars. I know it wasn't anything new to you, but it means so much to me.”

“Oh, _angel_.” He reached across the table, took both her hands in both of his. “That was so important to me, too, beautiful. You let me make a star again.” He met her eyes. “I'm sorry you had to give something up.”

“Hush. It was worth it.” She smiled, and squeezed his hands, and drew hers away to sip her tea. “I like making things with you.”

“Lucky for you, we've got a whole bloody house to repair together,” Crowley said dryly. After a pause to watch her laugh, he even remembered to sip his tea. “Reminds me. Kitchen tomorrow?”

“Kitchen tomorrow,” Aziraphale confirmed. “Oh, and while we're out getting supplies, we should look for paving stones. I want to build a proper path out to the northwest corner of the garden, where all those blue flowers are.”

Crowley startled for a moment, and smiled, realizing she'd noticed where he had trouble getting to. “That would be nice. There's some weeding I need to do there. It can wait, though,” he added quickly. Better she get her kitchen first. Well, their kitchen; they cooked equally not at all.

“It absolutely cannot, not if it'll make it easier for you to get there,” she said firmly. “I can do that tomorrow afternoon, and we'll tackle the kitchen later.”

Crowley blushed. “Are you sure? It really can wait.”

“Darling. It's very important to me that you can get anywhere you need to in our house, and especially in the garden,” Aziraphale said gently. She held out her hand, and Crowley laced their fingers together. “I can't do much for you. But I can do this.”

“You do plenty,” Crowley assured her, and lifted her hand, kissing her fingers. “You're the one as pointed out the obvious.”

Aziraphale rolled her eyes. “Yes, I did want to ask you about that. Crowley, love, don't take this the wrong way, but humans have been using crutches and walking sticks for  _ages_ . Ehm...”

“Why didn't it occur to me to try something before?” Crowley winked at her. “Fair point. Couple reasons, I think.” He held up a forefinger. “I'm not human.”

“Yes, the scales and the eyes and the demonic miracles _rather_ give that away,” Aziraphale said. “But we've got human bodies. Human-ish, anyway. Enough.”

“But not human,” Crowley said. “So it just never seemed a thing for _me_. Except walking sticks, but those were always for show more than anything else.”

“Mmm, true,” Aziraphale conceded. “S'pose it's a bit like sleep. A very human thing. Oh. _Oh_.”

“What?” Crowley asked, immediately suspicious.

“Like sleep. Like food.” Aziraphale narrowed her eyes at him. “Comfortable, comforting things. You never thought you had a right to them.”

“ _Aziraphale_ , you have seen how I lived over six thousand years! I am just fine with comfort,” Crowley protested. “We can't all reach your heights of hedonism, you know.”

Aziraphale sniffed. “That's not my fault,” she said. “But truly. You never tried using crutches because you'd never seen a demon use them?”

Crowley shrugged, and held up two fingers. “Two. A facade is important, angel. To me, obviously, and to  _other demons_ . You think Hastur and Ligur are particularly evolved on this count?”

Aziraphale covered her mouth with her hand, eyes going wide. “Oh, Crowley. Of course. It wouldn't be safe for you, if they knew, would it?”

Crowley shrugged again. “It's complicated.” Demons didn't have words for it like humans did – how the fuck did you discriminate against someone who might be a foot tall and shaped like a spherical lizard? Or someone who was around six foot, and sometimes had trouble walking. You didn't, quite. But you did look for potential vulnerable spots, and note it down, because you would use it against them, someday.

“I believe you,” Aziraphale said quietly. “But my dear. You got through everything as well as you could.” She reached across the table, cupping his face in one hand, thumb gentle on his tattoo. “Mostly by being a flash bastard and taking advantage of humans' inherent human-ness, mind. You're really a very easy hereditary enemy.”

“Oi, I foiled you at every turn!” Crowley protested.

“Whatever you like to tell yourself,” Aziraphale said primly.” She smiled and blew him a little kiss. “Are there more reasons?”

“Probably. But I don't much care about them,” Crowley said. “No point in dwelling, and all. Specially not now.”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale gave his face another caress, and took her hand back to sip her tea. “But I'm still laying you a walk in the garden, darling. You'll come and keep me company?”

It was going to be hot the next day, and Crowley hoped that meant that Aziraphale would strip to waist to work. Either way she'd be strong and sweaty and glowing. “'Course. I can follow along behind you, maybe lay in a border of little flowers or chamomile or something.”

Aziraphale clapped her hands with joy, and that was that plan set, and all was right in the world again.

They did their shopping in the morning, Aziraphale coming along for once to take over lifting and carrying and cart-pushing duties. Crowley could tell her just what they needed, and he'd definitely memorized the layout of the B&Q by now, so they were reasonably efficient. Moreso after someone who was clearly sent over to help them watched Aziraphale handily lift about a seven stone's weight of paving material, turned on his heel, and walked away. Crowley was so proud he thought he'd burst.

They stopped on the way home for a pleasant pub lunch in a shady garden that overlooked a pretty river. Aziraphale was simply stunning, he reckoned, her curls at their fluffiest thanks to a breeze, her biceps straining against the fabric of the old shirt she wore. And, of course, she was eating a pudding, and watching Aziraphale enjoy a dish of apple crisp was truly one of Crowley's great joys in life. 

“Have I got something on my face?” she finally asked, and actually rubbed her pretty little turned-up nose until the tip was red.

“No.” Crowley blushed. “Sorry, angel. Just staring. You're really beautiful, y'know?”

“Oh, stop,” she said cheerfully. “You flatter me too much.”

“No such thing,” Crowley said firmly. 

Aziraphale smiled and blushed and looked down. “You really think so. You  _really_ think I'm beautiful. Not just 'cause you love me, you just...do.”

“Loving you is a pretty big part of it,” Crowley said. “But yes. If I just saw you on the street, didn't know you? I'd think you were so beautiful. 'Cause you are.”

Her cheeks pinked.

“What's wrong, love?” Crowley asked softly. “Did someone say something to you?” He couldn't imagine when, and he generally had a good radar for when someone was looking at Aziraphale with distaste. Satan help anyone who tried to fat-shame her or butch-shame her or whatever to her face. There'd be nothing left to sweep up off the street.

Aziraphale shook her head. “No. I mean...no.” She sighed. “I'm sorry, Crowley. I'm not being any fun at all right now.”

“Aziraphale, you think a really wild night in is reading Victorian pornography to me and _not_ doing the funny voices,” Crowley said.

“Well, it is,” Aziraphale pointed out. “A very uninhibited folk, the Victorians. Well, some of them.” She smiled. “It's nothing anyone said. I just feel a little...unmoored, I suppose. Spending time in my true form will do that sometimes, it's nothing awful. And then before that, the accident...” She swallowed. “I healed us, yes, but I can't forget how it felt...my body wasn't doing what it was supposed to. It looked wrong, it behaved wrong. If I hadn't been able to heal myself...”

Crowley shuddered. “Don't say it,” he said quickly. “I know. I know, angel.” They'd hardly spoken of the accident since it happened; it was too big, and too new, and far, far too frightening. “I'm sorry,” he said, voice slower and gentler now. “I'm so sorry, Aziraphale. Is there anything I can do to help?”

She smiled at him and reached across the table, squeezing his fingers. “I don't know. I think getting out in the garden and working will help. Keep me moving and all that.” She let his hand go and pressed her hand against her soft stomach. “Remind me that I love this body.”

_Oh_ , so there was a little of that too, eh? You couldn't completely destroy the ghosts of the past; it certainly took more than a few years and one devoted demon to completely undo millennia of brainwashing, shame and abuse, as Crowley well knew. Aziraphale still sometimes got down about how she looked, her plump body and her round belly and her soft chin. 

Crowley added 'kiss Aziraphale from top to toe until she can't stop smiling' to his mental to-do list. He did that plenty, just for fun, of course, but it was also effective against memories of disappointed angels and Gabriel's lectures. “You do,” he assured her. “Poor lovely body – it's been through a lot. Zira, you're probably  _tired_ ,” he realized. “Being so badly hurt, a great whack of healing for both of us, then being left without a soul while we ran around the cosmos, and now you've got to do a load of physical stuff since I can't --”

“ _Steady_ ,” Aziraphale warned.

“\-- well it's true,” Crowley said. “I _can't_ , no point dancing around it. Darling, you're run off your feet.”

“I don't feel tired,” Aziraphale said.

“Maybe it's not all the kind of tired a body gets,” Crowley countered. “Angel, I'm not going to tell you to take to your bed. We'll work in the garden this afternoon. But then let me pamper you? I'll sort dinner, and we'll spend a long time in the bath. And maybe tomorrow we can take a break from the house?” He smiled enticingly, his old skill at temptation never gone away. “I know you've got a stack of books in your corner of the study...”

Aziraphale gave him a look. “Dirty play. But all right. I think you're a bit silly – I'm not tired at all, just a bit low about being fat and plain.”

“Hey,” Crowley said. “That's my angel-girl you're talking about there. She's fat and beautiful and I love every inch of her. Please don't say such terrible things about someone who's so special to me, okay?”

Aziraphale couldn't help but smile, biting her lip and looking down, then up, then smiling a little more. “Crowley, I love you.”

“I know, I'm very lovable.” He winked at her. “Finish your crumble, darling, it's going to go all soggy. And then you can be very butch and strong and I can get the alyssum in along the new path.”

Aziraphale even laughed, and did as he suggested, enjoying every last bite. 

The sun was blazing in the sky when they finally made it out to the garden, but Aziraphale was an angel on a mission and Crowley was a demon madly in love, so they both set to work with a vengeance. Aziraphale graded the path and settled the first paving stone, squatting down and setting it in place with a little grunt. The muscles of her thighs stood out against the thin fabric of her trousers, and Crowley had another reason to be grateful that he had crutches to take most of his weight.  _No_ one's knees were going to survive that without turning to jelly.

She bedded the stone firmly, and moved to grade the next section of the path, giving Crowley room to settle himself on the already sun-warm stone and start the border of little shrubs. They already had plenty of chamomile and he could dig that up another time, so he focused on getting the sweet alyssum in, working sat on the ground. He could scoot along pretty well and drag the flat of plants alongside him, and so did pretty well, all told. Even better was when there was enough room to turn around and watch Aziraphale work. 

She made it three stones before stripping her shirt off, and Crowley had to admit she had a good idea; he was hardly doing heavy work, but he was sweating like crazy in his usual attire. A snap of the fingers and he was in black cutoffs and nothing else, and feeling rather good about it.

“Oh, _really_ ,” Aziraphale said when she noticed, but her eyes roamed his body, so Crowley didn't feel bad in the least.

“'s not a sin to show your knees anymore,” he pointed out.

He couldn't tell if she was blushing or not, she was so pink from the sun, but her reply was to lower another paving-stone into place, bending over so he could admire the muscles of her back, and the graceful way she moved. And also how a corner of the stone caught her bra and pulled it down, and a single, perfect breast popped out.

“It's not even my birthday,” Crowley sighed.

Aziraphale got the paving-stone settled and frowned, looking down. “Ow. It  _scratched_ me.” She looked at him, eyes wide and liquid and begging. Crowley hoped she never, ever worked out that she didn't even have to get to the puppy-dog-eyes portion of things, before he would do for her.

“C'mere, angel,” Crowley said and oh poor darling, she wasn't kidding. There was a small but rough-looking scrape across the top of her breast. He unzipped the front of her bra, the better to get a look, and covered the scrape with his hand, cool from digging in the earth. She sighed softly, and he felt her relax. Good.

“There,” he said, once he'd healed her and not incidentally left a nice handprint on her breast. “Good as new.” He zipped her up again, and leaned in for a kiss.  
“Thank you, Crowley,” she said, and tumbled a little into his arms, head on his shoulder.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing. Just that I love you.” She smiled into his neck, and kissed him there. “I think you're right. A day of rest will do me well.”

“A day, or a week. Or whatever you need,” Crowley told her. “Everything else can wait. Or you can rest, and I can work. There's plenty I can do sitting in one place, or I'll come up with something else to try.”

She giggled and parted with another kiss. “Let's start with a day. And I want you with me, please.”

“As my lady commands,” he teased her, and she rolled her eyes and got back to work, her body bending, lifting, moving. She was gleaming with sweat in the summer sun, and Crowley was intensely grateful that his part in the shared path-building was pretty easy, and took almost no time, so he could spend most of it sprawled in the sun, admiring Aziraphale.

They made it to the little patch, already rimmed in cobbles and in dire need of weeding, and it was Aziraphale's turn to rest. She didn't sprawl, of course – perish the thought! – but did sit primly nearby on a nice patch of grass, and watched Crowley work. He thought she may have looked a little fondly on him, and preened a bit. Maybe his muscles weren't as big as hers, but he could put on a decent show.

When Crowley had got things a little more under control – and had threatened the flowers quietly enough that Aziraphale wouldn't overhear and scold him – he held out one arm and got a sweaty cuddle.

“Don't take this the wrong way,” Aziraphale began tactfully, after a few moments.

“But _ew_ ,” Crowley agreed. “Shower together?” Sure he could do a miracle to clean them off. _Or he could take a shower with a naked Aziraphale_. There was only one correct answer to this conundrum.

She grinned and kissed him between the eyes. “Want a hand on the path? Or shall I fetch your crutches?”

“Can you get them?” Crowley asked. “Sorry – not that I don't love draping myself over you, just...”

“Of course, love.” She bounced up happily, retrieved his crutches, and helped him up off the ground after propping them against a handy bush. “All right then?”

Crowley kissed her sweetly, once he was steady again. “Perfect. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” she said politely, but also – he was pretty sure it _was_ her pleasure to help him and kiss him and love him, and all the things that made him the luckiest damn demon in existence.

They went straight to the big rain shower in the conservatory, Aziraphale kindly providing a miracle to take care of their clothes while Crowley settled on the chair that had appeared there one day with no additional commentary. The water was warm and he tipped his head back, letting it wash away the sweat and grime on his face and oh, yes, that was what he needed. Well, the shower, but also – 

Crowley transformed her body. Just a little; removing chest hair, chest muscles becoming very small breasts, bones a little more slender, and hair in an undercut, the upper part now falling to her shoulderblades. “Love?” she asked softly.

Aziraphale was just behind her, and caressed her cheek with one soft hand. “What pronouns, you gorgeous thing?”

Crowley smiled. “I love you. She/her, please. Or they/them. Not fussed.” She reached up with one hand, the one with the ring on it, and Aziraphale seized it and kissed her knuckles.

“I love you,” Aziraphale said. “I love that you're in the world, Crowley, and that you're mine to love and care for.”

Crowley grinned and reached for the soap. “Hey! Am I one of your charges, then? You protect queer people...”

“Of course you are,” Azirphale said, moving so Crowley could see her. She'd already soaped up a flannel and was scrubbing away at her arms, the soap making her slick and gleaming, and one wet curl stuck to her forehead. “I thought you knew that!”

“I'm not exactly people,” Crowley pointed out, starting on her feet and working her way up, enjoying how the dirt sluiced away. “Also, angel. Uh. Can I...wash you? You can scrub me down. If you want.”

Aziraphale blinked at her. “I'm an  _idiot_ ,” she declared, and immediately knelt in front of Crowley, going at her legs and making sure to tickle. Not enough to get kicked, but enough to keep Crowley squirming.

“Hey, it took me a minute too, but I got a nice floorshow,” Crowley pointed out, going for Aziraphale's hair first, the shampoo bottle suddenly very handy. “Blimey, angel, how much hair d'you _have_?”

“Now you know why I keep it short,” Aziraphale pointed out, actually putting in some elbow grease to get Crowley's knees clean. “And I had quite a floor show myself.”

“Aw, I'm just sitting here...”

“And being delectable,” Aziraphale told her. “Gorgeous.” She paused and looked up, and rested her hand on Crowley's belly. “I love you. I love looking at you, my dear. I'm sorry I don't always show it.”

“Shut up and wash my legs,” was all Crowley could come up with, because she was _not going to cry_ because her girlfriend thought she was hot stuff.

“As you say, mistress,” Aziraphale snarked, and oh, there Crowley was laughing again, moving Aziraphale so her hair got rinsed out, massaging in some conditioner. She had to pause then and shift from side to side so Aziraphale could clean the backs of her thighs and 'what passes for your bottom', as she put it. She was a little faster at this; not out of lack of love but because it wasn't the most comfortable thing for Crowley to have so much weight on one of her hips at a time.

So lickety-split for that, but made up for in the way Aziraphale massaged the tops of her thighs, and then washed her belly.

“Honey?” she asked, and oh fuck, great, a new nickname that reduced Crowley to jelly. Bloody _brilliant_. “May I clean your breasts? I won't touch, I promise, just wipe with the flannel.” A longstanding rule had been that Crowley was all right being felt up through fabric, and maybe having her cleavage kissed, but no touching otherwise.

“Okay, angel.” Crowley kept her eyes on Aziraphale's face, and tried not to breathe too fast when Aziraphale met her gaze, gentle and protective, giving her something to focus on, and probably tracking her for even the slightest indication of discomfort. It was...fine. Still never going to be her favorite thing, but Aziraphale was quick and gentle and all Crowley ever felt was the flannel, so it was fine.

“I'm sorry,” Crowley said softly.

“Please don't be.” Aziraphale said. “You owe me nothing, Crowley.”

Crowley smiled a little as Aziraphale started on her arms. “All right. I'll try.”

“That's all I can ask.” Aziraphale smiled up at her, still kneeling on the floor. She was thorough with Crowley's arms, massaging at the same time, easing muscles tight from hard work getting Crowley through the world, let alone the gardening on top of it. It felt – well, divine.

She was very good while Aziraphale scrubbed her down the rest of the way, back and face and washing her hair and then – treat of treats – she could get her soapy hands all over Aziraphale's chubby, gorgeous, slippery, perfect body.

“How do you want me?” Aziraphale made the mistake of asking.

“Laid out naked on a bed of silk, surrounded by your favourite treats and at least three bottles of Grand Cru,” Crowley said. “But standing is fine to begin with. Your poor knees.”

“Oh, hush, the tile floor here is nice.” Aziraphale did stand though, sighing as she tilted her head back and let the soft shower of water hit her face. “I'd kneel on worse to get my hands all over you.”

Crowley laughed softly, and tugged her a little closer. “Just there? Thank you.” Now she was well within reach, and Crowley scrubbed her legs clean, washing sweat and dirt from her thick thighs, curving her hand around the gorgeous bulge of muscle just over Aziraphale's knee, and then of course her broad calves. “Put your foot up on my thigh – yes, love, hold onto the chair for balance, that's a good angel.” 

She scrubbed one foot clean, then the other; this wasn't very comfortable for Aziraphale, so any massages would come later. Besides, it meant more time on her lady-love's legs, washing up to Aziraphale's glorious bottom, the angel now close enough that Crowely could lean forward a little, wash the backs of her thighs, and bury her face in Aziraphale's soft, wet tummy, pressing kisses the whole time.

“Do you want to take care of your sex?” she asked politely, and Aziraphale shrugged.

“Whatever you like,” she offered, so Crowley slipped her hand between Aziraphale's legs and quickly cleaned any sweat away. Just because she had zero sexual interest – well, vulvas were beautiful body parts, and Aziraphale's was particularly beautiful. It was nice to touch her there.

And then.

_And then_ .

“I was not aware I'd got so much dirt on my stomach,” Aziraphale said dryly.

“Shut up. Very important. Got to get you nice and clean,” Crowley said, running the flannel along Aziraphale's round belly again, then washing the soft bumps of the tops of her hips and oh, that delicious little curve on her back. Again. Just to be sure. Holy fuck, her Aziraphale had a beautiful body.

Crowley snapped her fingers and a soft pad appeared on the floor, so Aziraphale could at least kneel in comfort, snuggled up to Crowley's knees while the demon tackled the top half of her body. 

Aziraphale sighed at the third iteration of washing her breasts but, well, Crowley  _had_ left a handprint there, as she pointed out. Terribly messy of her. She'd temporarily abandoned the flannel, too, cupping each breast in a hand in turn to make sure the soap was well-rinsed away. Best check with a kiss, Crowley reckoned, and she did, tasting only warm skin and water and bemused angel.

“You're lucky you're cute,” was all Aziraphale said, but she also sighed happily as Crowley worked her shoulders over a little harder than necessary.

Crowley took one arm at a time, scrubbing over gleaming biceps, and the soft fold of fat that tucked so cutely over Aziraphale's elbow. Her plump forearms were washed clean, and the tracery of veins visible on the inside of her wrist were given little kisses. And, of course, Aziraphale's hands, square and strong and soft, hands that held and carried heavy rocks, and caressed Crowley's body. Hands that had once held a sword, and never, ever would again if Crowley had anything to say about it. 

A hand with a gold ring on it that was carefully, softly washed, and then Crowley drew Aziraphale up onto her knees and into an embrace. To wash her back, of course, but also take her sweet weight. There were a few knots along her shoulders that Crowley didn't much like – those would have to be massaged out later. But for now, soap and a slippery body between her knees and in her arms. 

She finally, very gently, washed Aziraphale's face, running the flannel over familiar features, tilting her head up to rinse, and kissing the very tip of her little upturned nose.

Aziraphale was whole and happy and healthy in Crowley's arms, and she was usually pretty grateful for that in a consistent low-key way, but now? Now was a whole new universe of gratitude.

Crowley remembered Aziraphale's body broken and bloody and so close to discorporation. And she remembered Aziraphale healing herself, the horrible sounds and sights of a body being put back to right. And that it was  _her fault_ that they'd been hurt. Yes, it had been an accident, but it was a  _little_ her fault too. And still her angel loved her, had healed them both, and now Crowley was going to see to it that she rested, and came back into herself, and had the love and care and space she deserved. She may have fucked up with the car accident, but she had never in her life fucked up loving Aziraphale.

“All right?” she asked softly, meeting her angel's eyes.

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale said with a smile. She rose and turned the shower off. It was just a few steps to the huge bath, so Crowley did fine leaning on her arm, Aziraphale helping her over, and then into the warm water.

They slid in together, laughing a little and sighing in pleasure, and Crowley hauled her angel deeper into the water, taking Aziraphale's weight easily here, their bodies pressed together in the afternoon light. 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that there's some (medium-intensity I guess?) body horror in this chapter, as Crowley remembers watching Aziraphale heal herself. It's quite short, and you can skip it if you stop reading after _“Well, no that doesn't really work, you've got to show the body what to do, work it from the ground up oh my dear God.” Aziraphale's hand flew to her mouth. “Tell me you looked away, love. Tell me you didn't watch.”_ , and then pick up again at _“Oh, darling.” Aziraphale covered their face in kisses. “My poor Crowley. I'm right here. I'm fine. Touch me and hold me and kiss me, will you?”_ , a paragraph later.

Aziraphale sipped her gin and tonic, and savoured the lovely botanical notes. There were little clouds scudding across the sky, and she could look up from her book at any time and gaze out of the window over their garden, and the green hills beyond that. The sea lay a little farther on, and Aziraphale sighed happily to think of the world around them, their peaceful little corner of England.

And, of course, she could turn her head and see her beloved demon. Taking a corner of Crowley's study for her own was the most brilliant idea they'd ever had; she didn't need more than an armchair and a small table to hold her drink and just the tiniest of bookcases really, to hold the most tempting of her books.

So she had spent the day, reading quietly while Crowley puttered around nearby, sorting out a few things here and there, or more often sprawled on their throne, legs in some wild configuration, playing about on their phone. Aziraphale could look up whenever she liked and see them, and then fall back into her story. It was good; she felt peaceful inside in a way she hadn't since before the accident. A day off was just the thing, and bless her Crowley for seeing that.

She was just about to suggest a bit of a nibble to go with their drinks (Crowley was on a cabernet), when Crowley looked up from their phone, wide-eyed.

“Okay,” they said. “So you have to promise not to get mad.”

“What did you do,” Aziraphale asked, feeling the peace of the day start to think about draining away. Crowley had been _right there_! The whole time! What could they have got _into_?

“First promise me!”

Aziraphale sighed. “I promise I won't get mad.”

“And you have to remember that I love you. And that you love me.”

Aziraphale sighed again. “I love you very much, my darling demon. _What did you do_?”

“I _might_ have let slip to some of the kids that we had a tiny accident with the Bentley,” Crowley said. “Will you come take a selfie with me so they believe me that we're okay?”

“Crowley!”

“I didn't mean to!” the demon wailed. “Honest angel, I didn't!”

Aziraphale buried her face in her hands. “How many of them know?” she asked.

“Um. Just Annie and Aelis. And Damian. And Bee.” Crowley went on to name essentially everyone who was actively a part of their inner circle, a _good_ dozen people if not more.

“Are you mad?” Crowley asked, clearly hoping not.

“Anthony J Crowley.” Aziraphale lowered her hands. “I spent six thousand years lying to God, myself, and basically everyone I ever met, including you. I have lied about where my sword went, the gaslighting and abuse I was subject to at Heaven's hands, where you _you_ were at any number of times, how much I did or did not like a given hat, coat, or other garment and if I finished the last of that Australian syrah you liked so much. Among other things.”

“I knew it!” Crowley yelped. “I _loved_ that syrah!”

Aziraphale fixed him with a look. “And yet. _And yet_. In all that time, you never picked up from me how to tell a small white lie?”

“I mean, I didn't tell them _everything_.” Crowley looked pained. “Honest, angel, just come over and I'll send 'em a photo of us and they'll know we're okay.”

Aziraphale sighed deeply, walked over, arranged Crowley's legs gently, and plonked down in their lap. “Take the bloody selfish or whatever it is.”

“Selfie,” Crowley absentmindedly corrected, pulling up the front camera. They _were_ cute together, even moreso when Aziraphale pressed a kiss to their cheek as they took the photo.

“That'll shut 'em up,” they said happily, as Aziraphale took hold of their phone, and scrolled up.

Well, Crowley had at least had the sense to downplay it – a minor road accident, a few bumps, but everyone including the Bentley was fine. Which was technically true. It had just taken a few miracles to get there.

**Aelis:** _Prove it._

**Bee:** _I'm visiting my gran in two weeks, I WILL sneak over there and spy on you two_

**Evelyn:** _I second Aelis. Crowley, I know you, you play down so much pain. Let us help you, both of you._

“Oh, I knew I liked Evelyn,” Aziraphale said. “She's got you dead to rights, demon.”

“I don't know _what_ you're talking about,” Crowley said.

<pic_928379437.jpg>

**Crowley:** _HERE. We're fine. You're all worrywarts._

**Annie:** _Awwwwww!_

**Damian:** _Yes, you're very sweet, but why is there a pair of crutches behind you?_

“Oh, oops,” Crowley said. “He's not seen me recently, huh?”

**Aelis:** _Oh, I can take this one. They're Crowley's, just something they need sometimes, nothing to fret about hun :*_

**Crowley:** _What Aelis said. Crowley's just having a little trouble with their legs these days, so they're using crutches to get around. I promise, darlings, we're physically okay. Very frightened, but we're taking it easy and loving each other and all those good things.-A_

“Aw, angel.” Crowley kissed her cheek. “We're gonna be okay, yeah?”

Aziraphale bumped her forehead against their chin. “I'm worried about you. And about me. But yeah.” She cuddled into their arms and took a selfie of the two of them again, since she could.

**Damian:** _Ah, good to know! And so very pleased to hear you weren't physically hurt at least._

Crowley cleared their throat, and Aziraphale smiled at them. “What, _you_ want to explain that I have angelic healing powers?”

“Just want to prove that I can lie a little too,” Crowley said.

**Crowley:** _A few dings here and there, but we healed up rather fast. You know us, darling, the original unsinkable Mollies Brown! - A_

Aziraphale was so proud of her terrible pun she took her pinch with unusual grace.

**Bee:** _AZIRAPHALE you didn't even need to sign that one._

_But really. I'll be out there soon. Are you sure you don't need anything?_

**Crowley:** _We wouldn't turn down tea in the garden with you, darling. But we're quite fine, I promise. Now, if everyone is done overreacting, I'm pretty sure I've sat in Crowley's lap long enough to cut off all circulation... -A_

“You could never sit in my lap too long,” Crowley said, hugging her around the waist.

**Damian:** _With love, Aziraphale – we're not overreacting. We're allowed to love you, and worry about you, both of you. None of us were wrong to ask, and check on you both. You said yourself you went through a frightening thing, and you're both still hurting from it._

“You ever regret having kids?” Crowley asked, after a low whistle. “That's us told.”

Aziraphale winced. “Ouch. And no, never, although I wouldn't mind having less... _perceptive_ children. Why can't they be gay and _dumb_?”

**Aelis:** _What he said. You don't get to brush us off._

**Annie:** _Seconded. I'm still worried about you two, for the record. Please, please don't be afraid to come to any of us for comfort or hugs or anything you need._

**Evelyn:** _Thirded._

**Leslie:** _If you could text me every three days to request detailed medical updates on my broken ankle, we get to ask after you. I love you both so much, okay?_

There was a mini-cascade of agreements, and there would have to be a moratorium on selfies, Aziraphale knew, because she was glowing very slightly and also having a little cry.

**Crowley:** _You're absolutely right, Damian, please forgive me. All of you, please forgive us. Your love means everything. I promise we'll let you know how we get on. We just need a little time to be together and take care of each other, all right? - A &C_

**Damian:** _Of course, beloveds. Just know that all this goes both ways? I did not spend four years of my life running a food pantry out of the Drama section of that incredibly dusty shop to not do my bit taking care of you two._

**Crowley:** _Always, darling xx – A &C _

Crowley had taken over typing so Aziraphale could fish out a hankie and wipe her eyes, and she stayed cuddled in their arms, watching the little sparks of love fly across the screen, the magic the humans had made that let people very far away feel very near.

Their children were soothed – soothed enough, anyway, and Crowley promised to be in touch tomorrow to let them know how they were getting on. More love, pouring gently out of the phone, until the stream of texts ended and Crowley set it down and turned their full attention to Aziraphale.

“You're not really okay, are you?” they asked softly, reaching one hand up to stroke Aziraphale's hair.

“'m better than you,” Aziraphale said, and smiled, and dabbed at her tears. “No, not exactly. Oh, it's awful, Crowley.”

“Tell me everything,” Crowley said. “My angel-girl.”

“I know I'm...self-involved, but this takes the cake,” Aziraphale started, and Crowley physically gritted their teeth to let her continue. Just because Aziraphale was their whole world didn't mean that she had to be her _own_ whole world. In theory. “I just. It was so frightening to see you hurt, love. I hope I never do again,” she continued, looking over and meeting Crowley's eyes, even through their glasses. “I'm so grateful I was there to heal you, and make sure you didn't have more than a few moments of pain.”

“I'm grateful you were there too,” Crowley said softly. “You were incredible.”

Aziraphale shook her head. “Only – it was awful – but you see, what I'm really frightened by, and what I see when I close my eyes, and all of that, is, well. Is _me_ being hurt.”

“...Yes?” Crowley took their glasses off, in the hopes that this might clarify what the actual problem was. “Me too. You were in a bad way, angel.”

“But I shouldn't _care_ ,” Aziraphale said. “It's not _good,_ or _selfless_ or _angelic._ I healed myself and everything's all right and I shouldn't be nervous anymore, or, or stuck on the feeling of mending my own body and Crowley it _hurt_ , even breathing hurt!”

“Oh, love.” Crowley kissed her tearstained cheek. “ _Angel_. I don't think you can be anything but good, d'you know that?”

“That old line again?” Aziraphale asked with a sniffle.

“It was true on the wall of Eden and it's true now,” Crowley said. “And I bloody well think you can be good and angelic and whatever _and_ be sad for yourself.” They gave her a little squeeze. “If you hadn't been able to heal me for some reason, I would've been fine. Maybe a bit of time in hospital and a bit more in plaster, but I would have recovered.” They touched Aziraphale's cheek, warm under their finger. “I'm not sure you would have survived. And I don't think you would have been able to come back in a new corporation. And that's _terrifying_.”

“I don't want to ever leave you,” Aziraphale whispered, and buried her face in Crowley's neck, hugging them hard. “Specially not 'cause of a silly accident.”

Crowley sighed deeply.

“That was _not_ your fault,” came Aziraphale's muffled voice.

“It was a little my fault,” Crowley said.

“Accident.” Aziraphale sat up, cupped their face in her hands, and kissed them square on the mouth. “If it was a _tiny_ bit your fault, you more than made up for it in getting me home and into bed and keeping me safe while I worked the miracles I needed to.”

Crowley shivered.

“Now your turn,” Aziraphale said softly. “What is it?”

“I could see what you were doing,” Crowley said, and swallowed. “When you heal – it's not like you wave your hand and everything's restored.”

“Well, no that doesn't really work, you've got to show the body what to do, work it from the ground up oh my dear _God_.” Aziraphale's hand flew to her mouth. “Tell me you looked away, love. Tell me you didn't watch.”

“Oh, right, my best friend is about to discorporate and maybe leave me forever because I don't think we'll get new bodies, and she's an unholy mess, let me just go put the kettle on for some tea,” Crowley said sarcastically. “Of course I watched. Every second of it.” They closed their eyes, and of course they saw it again. Aziraphale's bones shifting back into alignment. Horrific wounds stitching closed, but the bloodstains still there, at least for a little bit. What it looked like as she straightened and healed her body, all of it right before Crowley's eyes until she was whole and clean and beautiful again, lying in bed as though she were napping.

“Oh, darling.” Aziraphale covered their face in kisses. “My poor Crowley. I'm right here. I'm fine. Touch me and hold me and kiss me, will you?”

Crowley made a soft noise, and held her tight. “For a really long time?”

“For as long as you want,” Aziraphale murmured. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I can't take those memories away.” She stroked Crowley's hair, letting the long strands run through her fingers, rhythmic and gentle.

They sat like that for a long time, Crowley holding Aziraphale close, sometimes moving a hand to touch her hip, or her knee. They would undress her and kiss her body and decorate her in jewels again, and listen to her heart that beat strong and regular – at least, when Aziraphale remembered, which to be fair she nearly always did. And they'd let Aziraphale undress them too, if she wanted. Whatever she wanted, anything – it meant she was _there_ to want at all.

They were quiet a long time, lost in their thoughts and in being near each other, and simply loving one another as hard as they could. But then Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably, and Crowley made a sound like 'urk', and they broke into soft giggles.

“I knew I was putting your legs to sleep,” Aziraphale said, rising and stretching. Her back popped, and Crowley reached out a hand, touching the dent of her spine through the warm linen of her dress.

“Only a little. And this throne was not made for two,” they said ruefully, and stretched a bit themselves, shifting and settling their joints.

“Our bed, on the other hand....” Aziraphale reached behind the throne and moved Crowley's crutches to within easier reach, then helped them up. She gave them something steady to hold onto until the pins and needles had passed, and they could slip their arms into place, take the handles, and settle in place.

“Our bed is perfectly sized for two,” Crowley agreed, and leaned in to kiss her, tilting their head and brushing their lips against Aziraphale's. Her mouth was so familiar now; it was impossible to believe that they'd had their first kiss only a few years ago. The first time they'd touched their mouth to hers, shared breath, shared this particular intimacy, on top of all the intimacies of their friendship.

Aziraphale smiled into the kiss, and they parted to go the slow way to the bedroom, walking through their house and even enjoying the half-stairs and strange corridors and impossible links between rooms. Aziraphale walked beside them, or just a step ahead if a door had swung shut.

“We should prop them open,” Aziraphale said.

“I can use miracles,” Crowley pointed out, a little bemused. “Or lean on one crutch for a moment.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Of course. But why should you have to?” she asked sensibly, as Crowley led the way into their bedroom, pretty and shaded in the afternoon, soft green walls and a growing number of particularly lush houseplants that had earned their way into the inner sanctum.

Crowley _knew_ their smile was stupid and love-struck. Ugh. They were never falling in love again. It made one unbearable. Better hope Aziraphale was onboard for the whole being-together-and-in-love-for-all-eternity, because they were _not_ going through this twice.

They made straight for the bed with Aziraphale close behind, neatly stepping out of her shoes and moving to kneel by Crowley's side where they stretched out on their back, joints popping deliciously.

Aziraphale's legs were tucked under her and her hands rested in her lap, and she smiled, cute as could be. “How do you want me?” she asked, and Crowley reached over, curling one of their hands around one of hers.

“Any way you like,” they said honestly. “But lie down in my arms to start?”

Aziraphale grinned and went easily, fussily straightening her skirt as she did and settling her head on Crowley's pillow.

They were almost shy with one another, Crowley realised, and they slipped an arm around Aziraphale's soft waist and drew her in a little closer. They touched the tip of their nose to Aziraphale's to make her smile.

They got the tiniest of little smiles, but their angel's eyes were dancing, so Crowley would take it. Aziraphale touched their lips, tracing the soft outline of them, then trailed her fingertip up to Crowley's cheekbone, tracing the line of it. “I healed a bruise here,” she said softly. “You must have hit your face on something.”

“I don't remember,” Crowley confessed. “I'm sorry. Thank you.”

She smiled. “I'm not looking for thanks, love. Just...remembering. You were hurt too.”

“A bit.”

“A lot.” Aziraphale smiled bigger, her eyes sparkling. “Don't you argue with me, I was there.”

“So was I!” Crowley laughed. “It's my body!” It was a nonsense argument, and they loved it. To _laugh_ about the thing – that would help them. It always had.

Aziraphale giggled, and kissed their shoulder. Crowley couldn't remember if it was the one that had been hurt. Probably. Did it matter? No.

They rested a hand on Aziraphale's waist. She'd probably been hurt there, it seemed she'd been hurt _everywhere_ , but they weren't interested in that. It was, simply, so _good_ to touch her. She had a beautiful curve where her waist nipped in a bit, before the glorious softness of her wide hips started, and Crowley sat up enough to lean over and kiss her body there, before resettling, hand still on her waist and thumb brushing against her belly. Because gravity was a bitch, her stomach was flat just there, the soft pad of fat sinking towards the bed, giving her a whole new curve. They'd touch there next, not let it go without love.

Aziraphale beat them to it, pressing her hand to her stomach, moving some of it within reach of Crowley's thumb. They knew there were gold streaks, big stretch marks, dancing under the cream-coloured linen of Aziraphale's dress.

“I don't hate my body,” she said softly. “I love it, actually. Truly. I picked it out myself, didn't I? And it's strong and warm, and it lets me hold you and love on you, and read books and eat and all the wonderful things in the world.”

“I know,” Crowley promised her. “Why did you pick this one? You could have looked like anything.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I knew I was to be a guardian, so I wanted to look trustworthy. Comforting. Big, so I could protect more people with my body if it came to that.”

Crowley shivered, and Aziraphale pressed his hand to her waist.

“I like being soft,” Aziraphale said. “I chose it, and I like it.”

“I like you being soft too,” Crowley said, not entirely sure where this was going, but willing to come along for the ride, and also definitely not ever going to give up an opening to praise Aziraphale. That was just encouraging vanity or whatever.

Old habit died hard, okay, and Crowley always did like a bit of old-fashioned sinning.

“I got that, yes.” Aziraphale smiled at them, inviting them in on the joke. “I'm sorry for when I give into what I've been taught. That I'm a bad angel, that I deserve punishment, that soft is a bad thing to be.”

“You have _nothing_ to apologise for,” Crowley said hotly.

“But I'm still sorry,” Aziraphale said. “I'm sorry to you, because it hurts you to see me hurting. And I'm sorry to this body of mine, which I chose. I'm not taking blame, or anything,” she said thoughtfully. “That goes to those that beat me, or mocked me, or tried to convince me that being who I am is wrong. But I am, simply – compassionate. It hurts you when I call myself ugly. And I'm sorry, beloved; you don't deserve that hurt.”

“You're so _good_ ,” Crowley said, and pulled Aziraphale into their arms, hugging her now.

“I am not,” Azirpahale said, her voice warm and tender. “I've gone native. I'm selfish and a bit greedy and I like my quiet life and keeping myself to myself – well, and you, of course. But that's just going a bit human, and that's not a bad thing.”

“Like you told Adam,” Crowley agreed.

“Mmm.” Aziraphale snuggled in their arms, softer than ever. “So, please know, Crowley. What you saw – when I healed myself – it was an act of love. I don't know if that will help, but _please_ just know it's because I loved you, and myself, and this corporation, and just wanted everything to be all right.”

“I don't know if it'll help either,” Crowley admitted. “But it's good to know. You've always been best at being yourself, angel, and damn what anyone else thinks, including me. Big part of why I love you.”

Aziraphale tucked her head against Crowley's shoulder. “Thank you, dear. I just want you to know – those times I hate myself? They're fleeting. And they grow shorter all the time.”

“Good to know. I still reserve the right to shower you with compliments and gifts and things to cheer you up,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale laughed.

“I won't stop you,” she murmured, turning her head to kiss their throat. “And the same. You're more comfortable in your skin than I'll ever be, but I still want to...to worship you, darling.”

“No,” Crowley said softly. “I never want that. Love me all you like, but as my equal.”

“Poor choice of words,” Aziraphale conceded. “I beg your pardon.” She pushed herself up to sit, and smiled down at Crowley, eyes so tender Crowley couldn't meet them and couldn't look away. “I want to adore you. To love you as my equal and my best friend and my partner, and to worship your body the way you do mine. Fair?”

“Fair,” Crowley croaked, mouth suddenly gone dry. Aziraphale was generous with her affections and touches and kisses, but they had the sinking feeling that that was about to get turned up a notch.

They _probably_ wouldn't discorporate right here. It'd be rude, for one thing, after their angel had worn herself out repairing their body.

“Oh good grief, you needn't look frightened,” Aziraphale teased, and Crowley yelped a little in protest. “Honestly, you'd think I hadn't been loving you for millennia by now.”

Crowley softened at that, for who wouldn't? Sure they'd only started kissing – well, romantic kissing – a few years ago. But they had been best friends for how long before that? Love had always been there; the end of the world that wasn't had just let them burnish it into something else.

Aziraphale smiled and snapped her fingers, and a very nice white, wonderfully chilled, and two glasses appeared on Crowley's bedside table. “I know you said you wanted me on silk sheets, but they're so slippery, don't you think? And I'll let you undress me, since you take an unseemly amount of joy in it.”

Crowley laughed and kissed her in thanks before sitting up, batting Aziraphale away before she could do something silly like adjust pillows or fuss or do anything but be petted and pampered. They poured the wine out and gave it a moment to breathe, and took the time to make sure the bed was quite comfortable, and bolsters and pillows cushioned the headboard. Aziraphale made a show of indulging them, sitting up with her knees tucked to one side, turned to face Crowley and leaning against the now-cushioned headboard. She accepted her glass with thanks, and made sure she was holding Crowley's free hand as they silently toasted one another and sipped.

Crowley squeezed her hand softly, and raised her fingers to their lips, a gentlemanly kiss.

“Oh, you,” Aziraphale said, but her voice shook a little.

“It's all right,” Crowley murmured, kissing the back of her hand, then the back of her wrist, the skin soft and delicate under their lips. “Everything is all right now, angel. We're safe. _You're_ safe and sound and well.”

“And so are you,” Aziraphale said staunchly. “Don't you ever, _ever_ think that that isn't what's most important to me.” Her voice was quavering something awful, but this needed saying. “That I wouldn't do anything, if it meant my Crowley was happy and healthy. A bit tired and sad? I'd pay a price a thousand times higher.”

“Hush,” Crowley advised, turning her hand and pressing their mouth to the inside of her wrist. “I know, you silly old thing, but you don't have to. Drink your wine, and let me take care of you.”

“Only because it brings you into kissing range,” Aziraphale said primly, and Crowley had to take a break from their attempts at romance for a good belly-laugh.

“Your sacrifice is noted,” they teased, and Aziraphale grinned at them, and leaned in for a kiss herself.

“You ridiculous old thing,” she said cheerfully, and squirmed closer. Crowley set their glass aside, the better to wrap an arm around Aziraphale's shoulders, rest their other hand on the side of her bosom, and lean in for a long kiss. She tasted like wine and warm, good things, and made a soft, breathy sound into Crowley's mouth when they cupped her breast.

Crowley drank in the little noise, then moved to kiss the corner of her mouth, the edge of her jaw, her soft neck, and down to her throat.

Aziraphale gasped again when Crowley went to kiss her pulse-point, the warm secret place on her neck, their hand moving now to unbutton her dress. They were just aware of her leaning into their touches, moving so she could return kiss for kiss, first Crowley's mouth, then their cheek, their tattoo, the place under their ear that always resulted in them making very vulnerable noises.

“Sweetheart.” Azirpahale's voice was full of love and pleasure, and she held her wineglass so Crowley could sip from it. “You and my tits, I swear.”

“They're _perfect_ ,” Crowley wailed. “How can you expect me to resist?” They slipped their hand into her dress, cupping one of her breasts, smoothed and rounded by her bra.

Aziraphale giggled and freed the hand that had been tangling in Crowley's hair. “I suppose they're nice,” she mused, cupping her other breast and giving it a little squeeze.

“Yrk,” Crowley said.

“You certainly enjoy them,” Aziraphale said, thoughtfully rubbing her nipple with her thumb so that it stood up hard, pressing against the lace that didn't really cover it.

“Ngk,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale curled her shoulders in, pushed her breasts together, and pushed them up with one hand. “I think it's very cute.”

“I am going to die,” Crowley told the world, and then realized that Aziraphale knew _exactly_ what she was doing. “Angel! You bastard angel!”

Aziraphale fell back against the pillows, she was laughing so hard, and the only thing that saved her wine was that she drank deep from the glass and finished it off, then miracled it to stand next to Crowley's. “It's not my fault! If we weren't asexual, imagine how I'd be!”

“I would have died a long time ago,” Crowley said, thinking of the grim reality of an Aziraphale who had _this_ body and _knew how to use it_ and if they had a scrap of erotic longing to be used _against_. Total discorporation would be the only realistic result.

They looked at Aziraphale, tumbled across their bed, still laughing and with her dress open to her belly. They remembered her in the car, her gorgeous body broken and bleeding, and shivered.

Aziraphale's face softened – she must have sensed something, or simply understood them that well. “Come here, love,” she said, and held out an arm, and Crowley lay down against her, hand stealing into her dress to rest on her belly this time.

“Crowley?”

“Hmmm?” If they rested their face by her neck, they could smell her perfume. Crowley's eyes slipped shut, homing in on the comforting smell, the thing that meant their beloved.

“Can I put my face in your cleavage?”

Well, if there was one thing to knock Crowley out of a good melancholy, it was Aziraphale propositioning them. It was so unsexy it curled back around to be – well, adorable, at least. Charming. They opened their eyes and smiled at her. “Go for it, angel. Here --” They sat up and pulled their shirt off; their breasts were still covered in a bra, so that was okay, but it gave Aziraphale a little more skin, at least.

Aziraphale cooed her joy, and petted Crowley's shoulder when they lay back down. “You give me such gifts. And I know I'm very awkward, it's just – you seem to enjoy it so much, I wanted to give it a go.”

“Might be less of a thrill for you,” Crowley said, looking down and poking their chest. They had given themselves rather small breasts, certainly smaller than Aziraphale's.

“Shut up,” Aziraphale said. “I adore your body, Crowley – every inch of it.” And, without further ado, she squirmed down the bed and face-planted into Crowley's chest.

Crowley watched her, bemused and in love and definitely lightly disgusted with themself for being so _charmed_. Azirpahale held quite still for a moment, her little nose pressed against their breastbone, and then nuzzled like a kitten. It was the least erotic thing Crowley had ever experienced, and they were a sex-repulsed asexual. They were also so in love it hurt.

“Hmm.” Aziraphale nuzzled some more, then sighed happily and pulled back, kissing Crowley.

“Verdict?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale shrugged. “Fine. Your breasts are beautiful, but I prefer looking at them, I think. I'd rather kiss you,” she added thoughtfully. “Or just wrap around you and hold you and tell you how I love you forever.”

Crowley smiled, and got on that wrap-around-each-other thing, throwing a leg over Aziraphale's hips. She rested a hand just above their knee and kissed them.

“Thank you, by the way. I know being touched there isn't your favourite,” she said.

“Aw, they're hardly bared,” Crowley said, smiling down at their bodies pressed together. “Hey angel?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you forever too.” Crowley kissed her cheek and smiled into her skin, feeling her whole and strong and well in their arms. It was going to be okay; it really was.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Just a heads up, that I'm going to stay with posting a new chapter every other Saturday. I was genuinely surprised by how much pressure this let off, and how I was able to take my time, edit it more extensively, etc. (Also, frankly, turns out I spend a *lot* of time typing, and being able to let off a bit was really good for my hands.) I promise I love this story like crazy, but it's nice to not feel like I have to churn it out :)

Aziraphale drove the last screw into place, and set her now not-quite-brand-new electric drill aside. Good, the battery was about to give in anyway, and it was annoying to recharge by miracles. She regarded the raised bed, the last of four that Crowley had asked her for, and reckoned that while she was no master carpenter they'd get a good few years out of these. Sure they were a little wonky, but the cedarwood was beautiful, and anyway, they did what they were intended to, and that was good enough. They were hidden away along the stone wall, so wouldn't offend if they got more twisted with age or something. And their garden was doing so well that Crowley had decided to put them in early; that must be a good thing.

Aziraphale pushed herself to standing, grabbed a shovel, and began filling the bed from the dwindling pile of topsoil they'd had delivered a week ago. Crowley had asked her for raised beds, and she'd leapt onto the project full of plans and energy and only somewhat less full of skill.

Aziraphale grunted a little as she lifted the first shovel-ful; the muscles of her belly and her thighs ached after a few days of this. Good ache, though. It was good to be back to work.

They had taken a whole week off, in the end. Aziraphale had been tired in ways she didn't entirely understand, and Crowley more than a little worried over her. And it wasn't like she was exempt from fear too, from the awful things she'd seen as Aziraphale healed herself, and the accident had raised old ghosts for both of them.

Aziraphale had even had a screaming nightmare to make it clear that Heaven still held a heavy place in her, that she was still afraid of punishment, of being a bad angel, on top of everything else. It had been days before she slept again, and then only held firmly in Crowley's arms, the demon stubbornly staying awake, just in case.

Their days had been quiet and sweet, full of books and teas and the gentle things of life. They had gone to the village for a day out, taken a walk along a canal path, and Aziraphale had worn her most handsome suit and Crowley a startlingly lovely dress. They had loved one another, and talked, and their fears were a little less, now. Some part of them had healed in that quiet week, in the way they made each other giggle and been beautiful for the other. Crowley had given her a gorgeous silk dress, shockingly modern and really rather flattering. In turn, Aziraphale had taken one look at Crowley in black jeans, a grey top light enough it could pass for white, blurted out “Ace pride!” and immediately produced for her a set of purple crutches. Crowley still used them, refusing even to miracle them away as she usually did at the end of the day.

So they healed a little part of themselves, and the day they had both woken after beautiful dreams, they decided to get back to work. It made sense to split the labour, for Crowley to handle painting and re-tiling the kitchen, while Aziraphale built the raised beds and got them ready for autumn and winter crops. There had been some experimentation on both their parts, but their kitchen was usable now, and very pretty too, and Crowley could start putting in garlic or whatever she liked tomorrow.

Crows screamed to each other in the summer sky, and the sun warmed the whole earth, or at least their corner of it. Aziraphale wiped the sweat from her brow, got the last shovelful in, and carefully spread the soil even, ready for her Crowley. She stretched and eased her back, and decided a shower was just the thing, once the shovel and drill and things were put away.

Aziraphale carefully cleared the area around the beds –  _ really _ wouldn't be the thing, if Crowley tripped on something – and made for the conservatory, taking the long way 'round their garden, through the fruit trees. She enjoyed the sight of things coming together, and of course the paths they'd made. They were smooth and even because they wouldn't dare be otherwise, delineating little beds of one delight or another. Aziraphale's requested lavender had gone in a month ago and was flourishing even though Crowley hardly yelled at it at all. Aziraphale had tried to point this out, but Crowley had pretended not to hear her. On such politenesses are marriages maintained, she supposed.

No need to dilly-dally, just shed her dirty clothes and shower quickly, scrubbing the grime off of herself. Stepping into a cool shower on a hot day, her arms and legs and belly aching pleasantly from work, was one of the great joys of her life these days.

Aziraphale quickly washed herself clean and sweet again, and stepped out, drying briskly and glad she'd left an old day-dress down here the other week. She was still a collection of curves, but some were hard and some were soft now, and she couldn't help but smile and run her fingers down her body, which did such good work, before throwing on the dress and going to find Crowley and see how she was getting on and if it was time for cocktails in the garden yet.

(The answer would be yes, but she did like to ask.)

Crowley had sorted out the kitchen early in the week, and moved on to painting a broad corridor that linked the kitchen to a formal dining room they hadn't decided what to do with yet. It really was quite a wide, tall passage, with a lovely flagstone floor, and once Aziraphale had helped tape off a few things and lay down a dropcloth, it had been Crowley's project alone.

“Oh, it's lovely!” Aziraphale stood in the doorway, taking in the space, glowing now from its fresh coat of paint. It was surprisingly well-lit by small windows, and was pleasantly cool in the height of summer.

Crowley looked up from where she was putting the finishing touches around the door frame, and grinned over her shoulder. “Isn't it? We picked a good colour.”

“Well done us,” Aziraphale declared. “Your raised beds are all done, by the by.”

“Oh, grand – thanks angel.” Crowley stared at the spot she'd been working on, but it pleased her well enough, and she returned the small paintbrush to the can between her knees, turned her wheelchair, and headed for one of the windows to do a little detailing there.

(That had been another obvious revelation they'd figured out with the kitchen. Crowley really couldn't work comfortably leaning on one crutch, and Aziraphale had been thinking aloud about how to get around it. A few chairs in a row, so she could work seated? Or--”

“Or some kind of wheeled chair?” Crowley had asked dryly, snapped her fingers, and that was that. It was predictably small and sleek and black, and she reckoned she preferred using crutches most of the time, but it (plus a long-handled paint roller) had meant she could do pretty well the whole kitchen and corridor herself.)

She took a small detour to get a kiss from Aziraphale, who leaned over delicately to avoid getting paint on herself, and smiled when Crowley couldn't see as her beloved demon frankly showed off, turning on a very small dime to head back to the bank of windows. She went and got a kitchen chair for herself, and sat in the doorway, watching and keeping idle company.

“Won't be long, angel,” Crowley promised, going over the cut-in's she'd started with, making sure the colour on the walls was even.

“No rush,” Aziraphale said, very comfortable just sitting for a little bit and watching Crowley be good at something. It was nice to watch her at work. “D'you want to run to the garden centre tomorrow?”

“Oh, actually, yes,” Crowley said, moving onto the next window. Her tongue was sticking out between her teeth, just a tiny bit, as she concentrated. Aziraphale considered that she was really quite _stupidly_ in love, which didn't stop her from taking a picture, since Crowley's phone was right there. And the light in here was really quite special. “I need to get garlic starts. D'you want anything in particular, angel?”

“I think I killed our kitchen sage,” Aziraphale admitted. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault. Every plant in this household knows what I expect of it, and its entirely their failing if they can't do better,” Crowley said smoothly.

Aziraphale rolled her eyes. “ _ Anyway _ . That. And another palm or something for the conservatory would be nice.”

Crowley nodded. “Anything you want, angel. We've got plenty of room.” She carefully filled in a space between the cut-in edge and where the roller had gone, considered her work, and decided herself done for the day. A snap of the fingers and the paint can and brush were clean and capped, waiting neatly to be gathered up another time, and any spatters of paint were quite gone from Crowley's person.

Aziraphale stowed her chair away as Crowley got herself to the end of the corridor, up onto crutches, and wheelchair miracled away until the next time it was needed.

Oh, her girl was handsome.

Aziraphale came back and slipped her arms around Crowley's waist and kissed her, which turned into another kiss, Crowley leaning into her, so utterly familiar in her arms.

“You look beautiful,” Crowley murmured, kissing down to her neck and pressing her face there for a moment.

“I love you,” Aziraphale said softly. “And thank you.” The sunlight filtering into the kitchen was sweet and light, and she felt the same way with her dear boy (always and forever her dear boy, no matter her gender presentation) in her arms. “Come see the raised beds, and tell me if you need anything else.”

Crowley smiled, and kissed her again, quickly, and then once more. “I love you too,” she said. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said as they headed through the house, down the little flight of stairs to the conservatory, then out to the garden. “It was fun.” She stretched and enjoyed the ache in her shoulders. “I think I'm getting quite good with the drill.”

Crowley very tactfully didn't say anything, but she was genuinely pleased with the beds, neatly-enough made and of course very neatly filled, ready for whatever bounty they would take on.

“Angel, you're a star,” she declared, checking one after the other. “I'll put in some flowers just for you, I promise.”

“Oh, stop,” Aziraphale protested. “We have plenty of flowers.”

“Not enough.” Crowley smiled at her. “Not nearly enough, that's just for you.” She settled down on the edge of the raised beds, just high enough and just wide enough to make a nice seat for a demon who needed to plant things.

“Is this about the library?” Aziraphale asked. “I told you, I'll get to it in winter. Just park you by the fire with a blanket and a bottle of wine, and go about my business unbothered.”

Crowley threw her head back in a laugh. “Oh, is that the plan?”

“Don't see you turning it down,” Aziraphale said cheerfully. She – carefully – settled beside her demon, pleased when the cedarwood both held and proved to be rather comfortable.

Crowley rested her head on Aziraphale's shoulder immediately, a bit of spontaneous affection so sweet and unexpected. Aziraphale leaned her head against Crowley's in turn, and regarded their garden. Beautiful, another season closer to Crowley's vision, and made just for them with smooth, wide paths and little islands of beauty of all the things they liked best.

“I love it here,” Aziraphale said quietly. “I know you know. I just – I love it here. And I love being here with you.”

“I know. But it's important to say,” Crowley said, slipping an arm around Aziraphale's waist. “I love it here too. And I really, really love living with you.” She turned her head a moment to kiss Aziraphale's shoulder. “I used to daydream what it might be like.”

“You didn't!”

Crowley smiled, and turned her head again, resting against Aziraphale. “Mmm. They were nice daydreams. But they don't even begin to touch reality.”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale got both her arms around her demon, and held her close.

“Yeah,” Crowley confirmed, and kissed her, short and sweet. “They were _really_ nice daydreams. But the real thing's even better.”

The next day was largely planning for the next trip to the garden centre, and some discussion about what they wanted the bathroom to actually  _ be _ .

“The conservatory's going to be bitter cold in winter,” Aziraphale said. “Even with miracles. And it _would_ be nice to sometimes take a bath without every bird in the garden staring at one.”

“Fine,” Crowley agreed. “I'll stare at you extra to make up for it.

Aziraphale sighed loudly.

“And I guess we might have humans over,” Crowley conceded.

“Also, it's hideous,” Aziraphale pointed out. “We ought to gut it and retile and everything.”

Crowley shrugged. “You're the one with the vision. And the sledgehammer.”

Aziraphale smiled, and poured her some more tea. She'd have to make a fresh pot soon, as Bee was due. It was raining, of course, but they could host in the hall.

And so they did – Crowley lounging on the sofa and a pot of tea and just a  _ small _ Victoria sponge really, that Aziraphale had just whipped up, and Aziraphale greeting Bee at the door with a hug and a quiet blessing.

“There now, let me take your cagoul – gosh it's really coming down out there,” Aziraphale wittered, happier than she would have guessed at playing mistress of the house and hosting their friend. Perhaps they should think of inviting some of their brood over more regularly.

Or not. They did  _ so _ like their solitude. And self-awareness was a virtue.

“It's a corker,” Bee agreed, kissing her on the cheek. “Wow, this is...medieval?”

“Quite,” Aziraphale said. “Though we've done it up a bit. Do come in, take a seat anywhere.”

“Crowley!” Bee yelled, and ran over, in his usual manner.

“Hullo, you,” Crowley said, holding out her arms and getting a lapful of Bee for a moment, and a mighty hug. “Now will you please tell the rest of your gang we're not on death's door? My phone is blowing up something awful.”

“Well maybe you shouldn't send cute photos of Aziraphale and your garden and the bunnies eating your garden,” Bee replied, not missing a beat. He grinned, and kissed Crowley's cheek, and bounced up to settle in the chair pointedly between Crowley's sofa and a mysteriously non-modern chair that had invaded the tribute to extremely fashionable midcentury furniture.

Aziraphale poured tea and distributed cake, settled in her chair, crossed her ankles, and proceeded to shake Bee down for every bit of news he had.

“I guess you know Emily and I split up?” he said, starting with the low-hanging fruit. Like that would save him.

“I did,” Aziraphale said kindly. “Everything all right?”

Bee shrugged. “Yeah? I mean, it sucks. But it wasn't working out. But we're good? Taking time apart and all, but I think Ellie hangs out with her a lot.” They looked down at their teacup, and touched the rim. “Sorry we were all dramatic, when we met.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Aziraphale said gently. 

Bee smiled, just a little, glancing up at her. “Still. Um. She's okay. I promise.”

“We're not asking about her, we're asking about you,” Crowley said. _This_ , this was the level of selflessness being around Aziraphale gave one! Honestly, it was impossible to even begin to combat her angelic wiles.

“I'm sad,” Bee admitted. “Really sad, actually. But, y'know. S'life innit?”

“It's life,” Aziraphale agreed. “And there'll be other girls to fall in love with, Bee. I promise. No one just like Emily, but they'll be special in their own way.” Of _course_ Bee was more worried about Emily – that was Crowley's influence. Not even demonic, just being _around_ her, and the example she set in the way she fussed over Aziraphale about three times as much as was necessary. It was enough to give one hives.

“Yeah.” Bee shrugged a little, and smiled. “I'm okay. Promise.”

“Good lad,” Crowley praised softly. 

Bee smiled at her, a little wider. “Crowley? Can I ask you something?”

“Always, you know that.”

“Are you, um, okay?”

Crowley blinked. “...yes? We've told you all, that car accident was nothing, just a bit of a scare.”

“No, I know,” Bee said. “I mean, I want to ask about that too. But, uh.” He visibly gave up being polite. “The crutches?”

Aziraphale couldn't help but laugh, just a little. “Oh! Right. Yes. Sorry, darling, just – we're rather used to them by now.”

“What she said.” Crowley reached out and took Bee's hand. “I'm _fine_ , I promise. This isn't actually anything new – it comes and goes, that my hips don't work quite right. You all just haven't seen it yet. I might not need them for the next ten years, or I might be using them for the next twenty, it comes and goes. But you needn't worry about me or anything like that.”

“That's what I'm for,” Aziraphale confided, and Bee actually laughed.

“All right. I'm sorry if I was rude. Just, y'know.” He shrugged.

“I know,” Crowley promised.

“But speaking of.” Bee looked to Aziraphale now, and she was not sure how she felt about tables being turned. “Will you promise me that you're all right? Both of you?”

“Oh, my darling. I promise,” Aziraphale said. “Not even a bruise left on either of us. We were properly frightened, but even that's easing.” She smiled over at Crowley, expression open and full of love. “We take care of each other, I promise.”

“I can't imagine either of you being scared,” Bee said, and Aziraphale turned to him in genuine surprise.

“Sorry, have you _met_ Aziraphale's anxiety disorder?” Crowley said.

“Or Crowley's?” Aziraphale asked sweetly, not to be outdone.

“Er. No?” Bee offered, and dropped his eyes. “Sorry, I'm being rude again.”

“No, you're not,” Crowley said softly. “You can ask us anything, at any time. And we'll give you an answer. Sometimes that answer might be that we can't tell you, to protect someone else, say, but we'll explain that. I _promise_ , Bee. This is important to me.”

“And me,” Aziraphale said, catching Crowley's gaze. “To answer when asked, I mean.” Her darling. Crowley had some deep scars too; Aziraphale worried she forgot that sometimes. Well, just have to work harder, be better. Love more, although she wasn't sure that was _possible_.

Crowley smiled at her, reassuring, and  _ ooh _ there would be some kissing once Bee left. But until then, her child needed her.

“It's all right,” she said, and winked at Bee. “I promise. I'm sorry we frightened you all, and then played it down. Damian was right to remonstrate with us.”

Bee shrugged and smiled, still a little red in the face, but he seemed calmer, more sure. A little more relaxed, so Aziraphale moved in for the kill.

“Now, my dear,” she said, topping up his tea. “You must tell me _everything_.” And with a precision and skill that would make a CIA operative weak in the knees, she innocently asked about the latest gossip of the week.

It took another pot of tea, but soon Crowley and Aziraphale were all caught up on everyone Bee knew, and their darling was smiling, relaxed and looking happy.

“I've got to get home to Nan,” he apologised, noticing the time, and Aziraphale took the remains cake into the kitchen to box it up for him, no protestations allowed. Besides, it gave Crowley and Bee a few minutes to be alone together.

“Get over here,” Crowley was drawling as she left the room, once again bringing out the 'it's easier to hug you goodbye sitting here' excuse. Crowley had used that on Aziraphale oh, a dozen times by now, and she hadn't believed it even once. Maybe Bee would? Probably not.

She took her time digging out the tupperware that seemed to self-propogate, and boxed up the cake, adding a few biscuits as well, for a fun surprise. And then examined her nails. And adjusted the fall of her trousers. Right, that would be enough time then, and she bustled back in, making sure to click her heels loudly to announce her presence from three rooms away.

Bee was cuddled in Crowley's arms, a small but very happy smile on his face when Aziraphale found them again. There were more hugs as she walked him to the door and kissed him goodbye, and watched him until he was down the garden path and away.

“He's all right,” Crowley said behind her, and Aziraphale yelped, genuinely surprised. 

“I'm going to put a bell on you,” she informed her, turning around and snuggling her arms around Crowley's waist. “Back to the hall, please, I want a good cuddle.”

“As lady commands,” Crowley teased, but Aziraphale also noted that she moved _rather_ faster than usual, and settled on the Eames chair that was wide and cushy enough to fit them both easily, as long as they were okay holding each other close. (They were always okay with that.)

She let Crowley settle herself and get her legs into some kind of comfortable configuration, and then climbed on top of her, tucking her head under Crowley's chin and snuggling close as the sound of rain picked up.

“He's fine,” Crowley soothed. “I promise. Deep down, I mean.”

“I believe you,” Aziraphale said. “I just always get sad when they're sad, and especially when a relationship ends. I'm all right, really.”

“I know, angel,” Crowley said. “That's why you're gluing yourself to me head to toe.”

“Do you want me to not?” Aziraphale asked, hiding a smile.

“Literally never,” Crowley informed her. “And you know it, angel-girl.”

Aziraphale stopped hiding her smile, and hugged her Crowley. “I love you, dear boy. Oh. D'you mind that? When you're presenting female?”

“Never, love,” Crowley assured her. “If someone gets scandalized, they can go pound sand.”

Aziraphale giggled, hiding her face a moment in Crowley's chest. She was wearing a really nice perfume, and her shirt was very soft and kind on Aziraphale's skin.

“There now,” Crowley murmured. “Poor angel. You worked really hard this afternoon.”

“I didn't, really,” Aziraphale said.

“You did, actually,” Crowley informed her. “I could feel it. Now, angel, no arguing and let me see your wings.”

“ _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale wailed. This was dirty play, which didn't stop her from carefully unfolding her wings, opening them just enough to drape over the two of them.

“Hm. These actually aren't too bad,” Crowley said with a sniff, which in no way stopped her from running her fingers through the silver-white feathers, tidying and settling them. “Am I a good influence?”

“No,” Aziraphale said, already feeling everything go heavy and a bit fuzzy as Crowley worked her magic. “Never.”

“Good. Wouldn't want to lose my touch. There now, drift off,” Crowley murmured. “I'll hold you. Does that feel good?”

“You know it does, you foul serpent,” Aziraphale managed to complain, before Crowley's grooming sent her into a deep, delicious nap, held safe and sound in her darling's arms.

They had agreed to split the work again, at least while Aziraphale was swinging a sledgehammer around in a a fairly enclosed space. And anyway, Crowley wanted to get things planted – the summer was trickling by at a good pace, each day a little rounder and more golden, the air sweet with warmth and filled with the sensation of a wave about to crest.

So Crowley was at the raised beds, and Aziraphale was in the bathroom, clawhammer hooked on a rather handy loop on her trousers, arms bared rather daringly in the sleeveless undershirt she had changed into _after_ Crowley had gone outside. She took a sledge to the first wall, sending the hideous, nicotine-coloured tile into oblivion, and felt a thrill of pure joy. At least the bathroom was relatively recent; all the fixtures were post-war, at least, and this might almost be easy.

And goodness, but it did feel good to demolish stuff. Honestly, she was lucky that Crowley both couldn't easily do this and had zero desire; more sending sheets of hideous tile and friable drywall beneath it to the ground for her!

Aziraphale even hummed happily to herself as she took a clawhammer to a few bits that clung on here and there. She'd have to be careful with the shower stall – they wanted to keep the rough structure, just re-tile it in something that didn't look like the inside of an ashtray, and put in a decent shower-head. At least it was a good size – certainly big enough for the two of them plus a shower chair.

Oh, that would be lovely. A long day of work, or perhaps out for a good, lengthy ramble, then back home and into a hot shower, suds skimming down their bodies as they giggled and washed each other, and maybe Aziraphale would sit in Crowley's lap for a bit under the water, getting in a slippery little cuddle.

She bit her lip, smiled even bigger, and had a whole wall demo'd in under an hour. A quick break to rest and wait around to see if Crowley would wander by so she could pour water on her head and basically drive the demon a little bonkers, but, alas, Crowley remained firmly outside, so Aziraphale contented herself with leaning on the windowsill and happily watching the slim form move from bed to bed. Good, Crowley could reach anywhere she wanted with ease, and the ground between each bed was flat and hard. She was on crutches today, but the space could accommodate a small wheelchair, Aziraphale reckoned. And if it didn't, she'd fix it 'til it did.

And, not to be forgotten – Crowley was beautiful. Her hair was up in a messy bun and she was wearing ratty old shorts and a sleeveless top, and she was beautiful. Her legs were slinky, her hips askance, and her body was so beautiful, Aziraphale thought. Also, the way she was sitting made Crowley's top ride up a little, and Aziraphale could see the tiny bit of her hip, the way it curved up and in to her waist, and knew the first part of Crowley she'd kiss that night when they were in bed. Especially after Crowley tugged her top down, hiding the sweet little curve from view.

Aziraphale smiled, and let herself watch a little longer. Crowley hoisted herself up and made her way to the next bed and settled, her crutches always within reach. She was still using the purple ones Aziraphale had given her, and that made something warm glow a little, deep inside of the angel. She could help. She could _love_ , and give Crowley pretty things, and make things a little easier for her.

Crowley must have felt her eyes, or maybe a hint of love and desire, because she looked up and waved.

Aziraphale waved back, and blew her a kiss, which Crowley caught – and, predictably, rolled onto one hip to smack her own bottom with the hand that had caught the kiss.

“Oh bugger _off!_ ”Aziraphale cried, and slammed the window shut. She wouldn't feel the heat, and even if she had, she wished to make a _point_.

Grinning now that Crowley couldn't see her, Aziraphale picked up the sledgehammer again, hands wrapped firmly around the handle, and raised it overhead to have a go at the wall where the extremely indifferent old bathtub had been. They had broken their no-miracles rule for removing heavy fixtures, and very glad of it she was. They'd get a lovely deep ceramic thing, and put it by the window instead of tucked in a weird little corner. Honestly, who had  _ designed _ the bathroom? It was dreadful.

The tile here was a little more sturdy, but a few solid whacks and it was coming down, helped by the clawhammer. And, to be honest, Aziraphale preferred a little more elbow grease to having a wall come down on her  _ again _ .

A few hits in revealed two studs rather farther apart than the others, and that was a little something to frown over – she'd have to read up a bit before she felt confident putting a new one in. But – no.

“What on earth?” she murmured, and gave the wall another whack with the sledge, catching an edge and pulling it down. She jumped back so as not to get rained on with tiles and gypsum; there was a chance Crowley would feel it and melt down on her way into the bathroom, poor love. 

As the dust settled, though, Aziraphale looked up, and saw a door perfectly set into the wall.

“Ooooh,” she breathed, and went to window, throwing open the sash. “Crowley!” she called out. “You've got to come see this! I found a hidden door!”


	24. Chapter 24

Crowley looked up, and she could see their grin from the window. “Hold on,” they called. “Don't do anything without me!”

A blink, and then Crowley was beside her, glowing with the sun's heat, and for a moment Aziraphale was overwhelmed. They smelled  _ green _ , like life, like a garden already bursting into fullness. For one dizzy moment she had a vision of them on the grass, among flowers, bodies entwined and kissing lavishly and it was like kissing the summer.

She blinked again, and although the smell of rich soil and green and clean sweat didn't dissipate, at least she could focus. They would  _ definitely _ have to do the kiss in the grass thing later. Maybe even naked. That would be nice.

Crowley whistled, looking around the bathroom. “Bloody hell, angel, you using this to work through some anger issues? You're a machine.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, preening a bit as she looked around. The bathroom really _was_ close to being gutted, with two walls nearly down. “This is the easy bit, really.”

“Yeah, for _you_ ,” Crowley said, making eyes at her. “Will you let me rub your shoulders later? I don't want you getting sore.”

“I'm sure it's entirely selfless on your part,” Aziraphale said dryly. She also smiled at Crowley and winked. “Stop drooling, and look what I found!” She gestured to the door, taking in the unremarkable old oak with a tarnished brass doorknob.

Crowley gave a low whistle and shifted so they could look at it a little closer. “Blimey, that's neat. Where's it lead to?”

“Well, my library should be on the other side of that wall,” Aziraphale said. “I'm sure that's all it is.”

They both stood there.

“So how many bodies d'you think are hidden in our murder room?” Crowley asked. “To the nearest dozen?”  
“Oh my – _Crowley_!” Aziraphale threw up her hands. “Fine. I'll open the door.”

“You're the one that wants to prop open every door in the house for me,” Crowley pointed out, and grinned when Aziraphale shot them a dirty look.

“I'm sure there's not even one dead body, we are being ridiculous,” she said, going forward, turning the doorknob, and pulling the door open.

It was not, actually, her library, but a very small and windowless room – a passageway, really, lit dimly by whatever light came in around the door. Aziraphale helped the lighting out with a miracle, and stepped in to look around.

“Be careful, angel,” Crowley said.

“My darling, when have you ever known me to not be?” Aziraphale said.

There was a very long pause that she politely ignored. Besides, there wasn't much in the space; it  _ was _ a small passageway, finished with rough oak. It was hardly more than a metre square; they would likely have struggled to both fit in there at the same time.

“Oh!” There was a niche, though, just at her eye-level, not very deep or big, but holding three tin boxes. Aziraphale pulled them out carefully, and went back into the bathroom to show Crowley.

“Huh. 1950's?” they guessed, and Aziraphale shrugged. 

“We can look in a moment, I want to see where the other side goes, if it goes anywhere.” She went back in and pressed on the far wall carefully, feeling her way and _there_. There was the latch, very thin and nearly hidden. She pulled it, and the door swung open to what would be her library, the sunlight streaming in.

Aziraphale laughed and walked through, turning to see Crowley standing in the other doorway. “It's a secret passage! Come on, I want to see what it looks like from this side.

Crowley came through, of course, and watched as Aziraphale carefully swung the door shut. It was a bookcase, or part of one, and it disappeared quite invisibly.

“I have a secret door!” Aziraphale said, utterly delighed. “Oh, Crowley, just like a detective novel!”

“So it _was_ a murder room...” Crowley laughed at the dirty look they got. 

“Look, you can open it from this side too,” Aziraphale said, after carefully examining the empty shelves. She reached under one, and flicked a small latch, and the door swung open. 

“Show me again?” Crowley asked. They shifted to lean on a single crutch, and Aziraphale guided their hand to the little latch, showing their fingertips where to curl.

“Oh, it's just like --”

“ _Steady_ ,” Aziraphale warned. “Also I thought you were a virgin?”

“Well, yes, but I know how to flick a bean,” Crowley said with an eye-roll.

Aziraphale tried to make her glare extra-blistering. “It's the same on the other side,” she said, and realised her mistake too late.

“You're absolutely going to pretend to be my secret lover and creep in here at night full of stories of how you evaded my parents and/or guards to deflower me, and generally irritate me, aren't you?” she said with a sigh.

“All day, too,” Crowley said happily. “I can't wait.”

Aziraphale sighed again, then brightened. “The boxes! Oh, Crowley, let's go through them.”

“Absolutely,” Crowley agreed. “Only – er, don't take this personally.” They snapped their fingers, and both of them were miraculously un-sweaty and generally clean and not covered in bits of wall or garden.

“Oh, gosh, thank you. Sorry, I don't think I was very nice to be near,” Aziraphale apologised.

“You were fine, angel. I love seeing you get down and dirty, but I was going to sneeze if I breathed in any more dust,” Crowley said, steady again on two crutches and leaning in for a kiss. “I imagine I wasn't a treat either.”

“You smelled like Eden,” Aziraphale blurted out, and blushed.

“Oh, darlin',” Crowley said quietly, suddenly very still.

“You did,” Aziraphale said, just as quietly. “Like life, and hope, and I love you so much. Can we cuddle in the garden later? That soft patch of grass by all the flowers?”

“Anything you want, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, and swallowed hard. “But hey. Mystery boxes first!”

Aziraphale was going to kiss them stupid  _ and _ take her top off  _ and _ let Crowley sleep on her bosom  _ and _ not wake them up too early, she decided, following her demon through the passageway again, closing up carefully behind her and retrieving the boxes.

They settled in Crowley's study with a pitcher of ice water and plenty of curiosity. As the person most used to handling old things, Aziraphale was given the honour of opening the first box.

She paused, fingertips on the old metal, and laughed. “You know they're going to be empty, right? Or just have old seed packets or something.”

“Nah, I heard stuff shifting around inside”, Crowley said.

Aziraphale smiled, having been down this route before. “Just prepare yourself for a pile of old recipes at best, all right?”

Of course, it was inevitable that she opened the lid only to be greeted by a box full of jewellery.

Crowley  _ cackled _ , nearly falling out of her throne, while Aziraphale said some particularly un-angelic words.

“Tell me more about how I ought to prepare for disappointment,” Crowley said between snickers. She lifted out a particularly sparkly choker. Paste jewels, of course, but very pretty ones, a few rows of faux-diamonds. “Oh, this is yours, angel.”

“Pretty,” Aziraphale conceded. “Though we should see if we can find who owned them. Really it ought to be offered to their descendants.”

Crowley made a whining noise.

“Of course,” Aziraphale said. “It's very hard to figure out ownership. This house kept getting resold every few years. No telling whose these were.”

“C'mere, and I'll put it on you,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale leaned closer so she could fasten the choker at the back of her neck.

“See, beautiful,” Crowley said when Aziraphale had turned back 'round. Aziraphale touched the necklace, blushed, and turned back to going through the box.

There were a few things that neither of them were much interested in, mostly plain bangles or simple earrings they already had, or could miracle up just as easily. But for most of it – well, it couldn't hurt to pick out their favourites, right? And slowly two piles grew, although that was more for appearances' sake, since they both dipped into the others' jewellery and cosmetics and more or less everything with abandon.

“Not even close to fitting,” Aziraphale said when they opened up a box of pretty rings, all of them definitely for a much smaller person than her. “Let me see your hand, love.”

Crowley reached over, and Aziraphale found a few that fit her, and Crowley agreed were very pretty. “We can give the others as gifts,” Aziraphale decided.

“Or wear them on a chain. I saw you looking at that Art Deco-y one,” Crowley said. A tiny miracle produced a fine silver chain, and Crowley slipped it through the ring and presented it to Aziraphale.

“It is really lovely.” Aziraphale smiled, and cupped it in her hands. “Thank you. I wish I could wear it as a ring, but, well. Bit used to this big old body of mine.”

“Me too,” Crowley said softly, and cupped Aziraphale's face in her hands, tilting her head for a deep kiss. “I love you, and your body. But you dingbat, you should have said.” She kissed Aziraphale's nose, and with a miracle the ring fit her perfectly.

“Oh! We shouldn't go changing things yet,” Aziraphale protested, but she slipped it off the necklace and onto her hand in moments, admiring the pretty green stones. “I do love it, though.”

Crowley just smiled and wrapped an arm around Aziraphale's shoulders. The angel's hedonism outstripped her desire to Be Good at just the right times, and they were both all the better for it.

“Here, this should be yours,” Aziraphale said, opening another box and finding a fine necklace of black pearls. There was a single white one near the clasp, where it likely would be hidden by hair or clothing. Odd, that.

“Zira, look.” Crowley had opened a matching box to show a necklace of pure white pearls – and one black one, just by the clasp.

“Oh,” she breathed. “They're a matched set. But one wouldn't wear them at the same time, it wouldn't work--”

“No, but two women might wear them at the same time,” Crowley said, and they looked at each other, wide-eyed.

“I think it's time to see what's in the other boxes,” Aziraphale decided, gently moving the one that held all the jewellery away. Sisters. Or mother and daughter. There were plenty of explanations.

Or there weren't, and these were the belongings of would-have-been-Azirphale's-children, and her wings came out silently, opening just a little to hover behind herself and Crowley, ready to mantle, ready to protect.

Crowley touched her chin and she turned, and got a kiss that made her eyes start to water. “I love you,” Crowley said, and their voice was a little scratchy.

“I love _you_ ,” Aziraphale said firmly. “My darling, and my best friend, and under my protection.” She grinned fiercely. God had made her to protect Crowley – and others, but Crowley was first in her thoughts just then.

Crowley's soft, wide-eyed smile was something to behold, and Aziraphale leaned over and kissed their brow. “I love you,” she repeated, and she didn't bless Crowley exactly – straight-up blessings gave them hives – but her web of protection and care and love that she was spinning into their home just by living there got a little bit stronger.

Crowley opened the second box, and they grinned at one another –  _ letters _ ! Dozens of them, made up into little packets tied with ribbons still fresh-looking. No shattered silk here, at least. Crowley, with a nod from their angel, carefully untied a ribbon and picked a letter from the top of the stack. They squinted at the fading ink and messy handwriting, immediately shook their head, and handed it over. “Sorry angel. This is well beyond my eyes.”

Aziraphale slipped an arm around Crowley's shoulders and gave them a little squeeze, just for a moment, and unfolded the letter.

“Oh, it's dated June 1962,” she said. “And sent to Miss Edith Montgomery.” She turned the letter over, searching for a signature, and smiled. “With love, from Evangeline. Gosh, that's a name.”

“Yeah, yeah, read it, angel!” Crowley begged. “And don't try to tell me it'll probably be dry, you know it won't.”

“I have stopped making predictions,” Aziraphale agreed, and her wings rose a little higher. “Right.” She cleared her throat, manifested her spectacles, put them on and, just as Crowley was literally about to explode (well, one must have one's fun in this world), began to read.

“Dearest Edith,” she began. “Mother of Jesus, my family is simply too much. Half of them know I'm a lesbian, and the other half think I'm a confirmed spinster, which is their way of saying the same thing.” Aziraphale paused. “Darling, am I a queer magnet?”

“You're the one that lived in Soho for two centuries, and it wasn't a gay mecca when you got there,” Crowley pointed out.

“I'm not complaining. Just, goodness.” Aziraphale smiled and began to read again. “I've been set up on dates with three men. One of them is gay; his boyfriend is quite a catch, even I can see that, and we get on well. We are debating a fake wedding to see what housewares we can get. I've told him he can keep it all, since I've got you back in England, love.”

Crowley's face grew brighter and brighter, and they giggled together, with Crowley placing a little kiss on Aziraphale's brow. “I knew it,” they gloated.

Aziraphale just smiled and shook her head, and kept reading. “I wish they could see how happy I am – how happy you make me,” she continued, and if her voice wavered a little, no one said anything in the moment. “Mother cried last night when I told her I wouldn't ever marry a man, and that I loved you, and I loved myself and how I am. We're coming out, and she might as well get all right with it.”

A pause for a deep breath, and Crowley's arm firm around Aziraphale's shoulders.

“I miss you so much – who decided that a month apart, and an ocean apart, was a good idea?? I know, I know. But oh my darling, what I would do if you were here with me. For starters, I'd push your skirt up and out of the way and bury my face _oh my goodness_.” Aziraphale laughed, her face bright red. “Well, she's a creative girl.”

Crowley threw her head back and laughed. “I love her. I might be in love with her, just to warn you.”

“No warning needed, I adore them both already,” Aziraphale assured them, and skimmed the rest of the letter. “Whoo, hot stuff! D'you want a live erotica reading, or can we take this one as done?”

“Maybe another time,” Crowley said, and grinned. “You can read through 'em all and let me know the juiciest bits.

Aziraphale was doing just that, skimming the letter and smiling. “Oooh, I want you to try this with my breasts,” she said.

“We'll make a list,” Crowley told her, seeing a future full of interesting sensual experiments. She'd have to get the area under the oak cleared away sharpish, maybe lay down a little moss and plant some particularly pretty flowers, really turn it into a bower. And make sure it would be quite comfortable lying flat on her back, an angel in her arms.

Aziraphale carefully re-folded the letter, and re-tied the ribbon. “It looks like Edith wrote her back in the next letter,” she said, scanning the first few lines, just visible. And, Aziraphale wished to note, in at least slightly neater writing.

“Oh?” Crowley asked.

“Well, it starts with her describing how she misses the feel of Evangeline's clit under her tongue,” she said dryly. “So I'm pretty sure things are good between our separated lovebirds.”

Crowley threw their head back in a laugh, and reached for the third box. It stuck a little, but between the two of them they got it open, to find that it was full of little tchotchkes, shells and pretty rocks, a few theatre programmes and suchlike. And a letter on top, folded neatly and bearing the inscription 'To anyone who finds this'.

Aziraphale smiled and reached for it, opening it carefully.

“To whoever finds this,” she began. “My Evangeline passed away last year, and I know I'm not so very far behind her. It's long past time I stopped rattling around this old place. I will miss the views, and the gardens, and the strange rooms and every day I miss my wife, and the life we made here together.” She paused and cleared her throat. “We don't have anyone to leave these things to, so I leave them to you, my unknown future lover of strange houses. I can't tell you what to do, but I hope you like our things, and read our letters, and know that we loved one another so much. I hope you love the garden, and that you build your own happy home here.”

Aziraphale paused again, voice shaking too hard to go on. The writing was a little clearer, so Crowley took over, reading slow and careful. “Our jewellery isn't worth much, but its yours to sell or wear. The letters are our hearts written into the world – if you don't want them, burn them. And the things we found are the world around us that we loved. I have been so happy here, and I hope you are too.

“Edith Montgomery,” Crowley finished, their voice scratchy. “June 2001. Oh, _angel_.”

Aziraphale nodded, fully in tears now. “They were mine. And they were so in love,” she managed.

“Oh, get over here, dove,” Crowley said with a little tug on her arm, and Aziraphale got up and settled again in Crowley's lap, the two of them holding each other, and maybe Crowley had a little cry too.

After just a little bit, Aziraphale smiled and wiped her eyes with her hanky, and laid her head on Crowley's shoulder. She coiled a copper-red curl around her finger, and kissed over Crowley's tattoo. “I love you.”

“I love _you_ ,” Crowley said, and ran the backs of their fingers over her cheek. “Will you read me their letters? All of them?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale smiled shyly. “Crowley? Can I wear the black pearls? I know it should be other way 'round but...”

“I want to wear your necklace too,” Crowley confirmed. “Besides, it's not like we won't trade back and forth, dove.”

Aziraphale laughed and nodded. “I like that, by the way. Dove.”

“Good, so do I.” Crowley touched the choker Aziraphale was still wearing, and touched her cheek again, tilting her face up for a kiss. “I'm guessing work is done for the day?”

Aziraphale nodded. “For me, at least. If you want to garden, I'll go out and keep you company,” she offered.

Crowley smiled at her. “I would love that. There are a few things I want to finish up, then I'm all yours.” They rested a hand softly on her belly. “Cup of tea, love?”

“Please?” Aziraphale sighed deeply, and giggled when Crowley flicked her hip.

“I mean the human way,” they said. “Up, angel, and lets use our kitchen for once.”

Aziraphale rose and stretched while Crowley got up. She took the choker off, feeling a little silly wearing it when she didn't even have on a proper shirt, but kept the ring Crowley had resized for her.

Crowley ordered her over to the table as soon as they were in the kitchen and she went, bemused, and then delighted when her demon swapped over to a wheelchair. And a section of countertop that was significantly lower than it had been the day before.

“Oh, clever!” Aziraphale praised.

“Well, you don't like miracled tea nearly as much,” Crowley said, preening a little as they set everything on a tray that would fit on their lap. “Also I'm not sorry about not changing the counter height the old-fashioned way.”

“As you shouldn't be,” Aziraphale agreed. “There's a fun project, and then there's expediency. And making things easier for you.” 

“Quite,” Crowley agreed, and set about assembling a plate of biscuits, pouring the hot water into the teapot, and bringing the whole thing over to her grateful angel, all easily balanced in her lap.

“Oh, that's perfect,” Aziraphale sighed, sipping deeply.

“Not too bad, for PG Tips,” Crowley agreed.

“Oh, the tea is fine,” Azirapahale said. “But I think – well. I think I just needed you to make me a cup of tea. To...love me, in that exact way. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said softly. “Oh, here, hold still.” They touched her cheek, and the tracks from tears vanished, leaving her skin soft and clean. “There we go. Biscuit?”

Aziraphale took the proffered sweet with a smile, feeling stupidly spoiled, and very loved. She'd have to figure out how to love Crowley back so they felt this cherished and happy. She wasn't always very good at it, which was stupid for a being  _ literally created to love _ , but there you were. Maybe it was worth more, because she had to work for it. And she was going to work  _ so _ hard, until there was never a doubt in Crowley's mind that they were utterly beloved.

They had their tea together mostly in quiet. Normally they were both great lovers of conversation, especially with one another, but the revelations of the hidden room needed a little processing, a little quiet and softness. And anyway, silence between them was comfortable and homely; no need to rush to get the words in, because the other would always be there.

When tea and biscuits were finished, Aziraphale insisted on tidying up, and despatched Crowley to the garden with a kiss. “I'll come out as soon as I'm done here,” she promised. “But you're itching to finish off those raised beds, I can feel it.”

“It'll pay off over winter,” Crowley promised, and headed out to the gardens, having swapped back to crutches. 

Aziraphale got everything washed up and put away. She dug out one of the smaller of the picnic baskets they had begun to accumulate, and packed it with a wine she knew Crowley loved, glasses for the both of them, a tiny nibble for herself, and a soft, light blanket in black and red. She caught sight of herself in a mirror on the way out and pursed her lips; canvas trousers and an undershirt absolutely would  _ not _ do. A sundress in a windowpane check that showed her shoulders and decollete and her knees would just about pass muster, however. She even went barefoot, feeling wild and free and rather bohemian.

One more miracle ensured a rather nice chaise lounge not far from where Crowley was working; perhaps they'd wind up rolling around in the grass, but this was a good place to start, and it was easier for Crowley to sit than to get straight to the ground. And it made settling down with her book extra-pleasant.

Predictably, Aziraphale lost herself in her story to such an extent that she actually gave a little jump when Crowley sat down beside her. Laughing at herself – because that was a thing she could do now, thank you universe – she set the book aside and held out her arms.

“Sorry, darling,” she said, when Crowley had snuggled close, smelling of earth and sun and green things.

“Don't be.” Crowley kissed her cheek. “I got loads done, and you didn't even notice me checking you out.”

“Oh, honestly.” Aziraphale went a little pink, and it wasn't from the sun. She gave Crowley a little squeeze, and reached for the picnic basket. “I brought us a treat.”

Crowley made a happy noise when they saw the label on the wine bottle, and Aziraphale got everything poured out, giving it a moment to open up and breathe, and then passed Crowley their glass once she was settled, cuddled into Aziraphale's side. Or maybe Aziraphale was cuddled up to them. It didn't much matter.

“Hey angel,” Crowley said, and kissed her temple. “You remember when we first moved in, and you were afraid of being useless?”

Aziraphale went even pinker. “You say that like it was a hundred years ago.”

Crowley smiled at that. “Sometimes it feels that way. But really. Remember?”

“Yes. Do we have to talk about this now?” she asked.

“Not if it's painful. Just. Look what you've made. Look what _we_ did,” Crowley said, waving at the whole of the house and garden. “You were never useless, love, you never could be. But just – be proud of yourself, yeah?”

“All right,” Aziraphale said, feeling shy and not so sure. She really hadn't done much. Most of the stuff in the house they'd done together! “Long as you promise to do the same.”

“'Course I am,” Crowley said airily, and sighed when Aziraphale kissed her throat. “Oh, that feels nice.”

Another kiss. “Good,” Aziraphale murmured, and topped up Crowley's glass. “What else feels good, darling?”

“Pretty much anything you do when we're squashed up together like this,” Crowley said honestly. “Why d'you ask?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I simply want to do something nice for you.”  
“Love, we live together,” Crowley said, as though that was an answer.

“Ah, so you'll stop buying me nice things and bringing me pastries and squiring me around in style and all that?” she asked.

“Shut up,” Crowley said.

“Make me,” Aziraphale said.

So they kissed her, and kissed her again, and to be fair, it shut them both up.

(Except for the small, wonderful moans that Aziraphale uttered when Crowley hauled her more firmly into their arms, one hand down her dress front and the other holding her thigh  _ so _ strongly.

And except for the gasps and the way they whispered her name when Aziraphale kissed slow and soft across Crowley's throat, and finally ended nuzzling their tattoo.

Except for those, they did, in fact, shut each other up.)


	25. Chapter 25

Crowley sat bolt upright with a gasp, eyes wide open in the predawn light. Bad dream. Just a bad dream. Of what, they hadn't the faintest idea. They ran through the usuals: a fire, Aziraphale dying, Aziraphale Falling, Aziraphale no longer loving them, Hell coming back for them, Hell coming back for them  _ and  _ Aziraphale, Heaven coming for Aziraphale...nothing clicked. Also, they sort of wished they could have some  _ nice _ dreams about their angel more often.

Crowley smiled thinly at nothing. Whatever it was, it was gone. Their bedroom was dark and still, the time of night that was most quiet, not even a breeze to stir the trees. Aziraphale was actually asleep, her limbs sprawled out beside them, sweet and soft. Her hair was silver in the dim light, and silly, sweet thing – she was so deeply asleep she'd forgotten to breathe. Crowley smiled fondly and let their fingertips ghost over the pulse point in her neck and, yes, quite still. Probably it was good she only slept with them, there'd be all kinds of drama if anyone else ever found her.

The thought of falling back asleep, and perhaps dreaming again, was distinctly unwelcome. They felt...jittery. Too wild in thoughts to fall back asleep, even with Aziraphale right there for cuddling.

They looked at the crutches propped up by their side of the bed – they usually did not particularly feel like manifesting  _ anything _ first thing in the morning – made a face at the concept of moving through space in the human way, and worked a nice little miracle to land sitting on the cedarwood bench in their big rain shower in the conservatory, warm water already cascading down.

Crowley sighed and tilted their face up, already feeling a bit better. The water rushed through their hair, beat a delicate tattoo on their face, eased tense shoulders. It was a dream. Just a dream. They were safe,  _ Aziraphale _ was safe. They exhaled, and tasted the air with a forked tongue, because they could always taste her essence. She was very close, of course. Deeply asleep. And so happy, so  _ incredibly _ happy and oh ho ho!

Crowley giggled softly to themself, knowing what she was dreaming of. Well, not the details, but definitely how it was making her _ feel _ . It was strangely comforting; they might be sex-repulsed, but Aziraphale was pretty neutral about it, and certainly loved the sensual things in life. Whatever her version of a sexy dream was, they were glad she had them.

They raised their arms and stretched, washed away the last of their own nightmare, content in the dark conservatory and the warm water. If they were careful about it, they could stand and balance, and did, holding onto a bar that had appeared a few weeks ago without comment. Crowley smiled, and enjoyed the feel of the rain-like water pattering down on their body.

Their great bath – pool, really – was of course always the perfect temperature and salinity. Crowley did bother to pull a crutch from the aether this time; harder on one, but they didn't have far to go, and it freed up their other hand to pick which jar of fragrant salts and oils they would add. They went with citrus and juniper, bright and sunny smells to keep waking their brain up, keep their body calm and content. It was just the work of minutes, to get herself down to the ground, pour in the jar and let it disperse, and then slip her own body in, welcomed by the water.

The bath was wonderful of course, cradling their body and steaming softly in the moonlight in the prettiest of ways, and Crowley leaned their head back and just floated, smiling, enjoying the warmth and being happy and held and content.

A soft sound, and they smiled, and flicked the air with a forked tongue. “Hi, Aziraphale.”

“Oh good, I didn't want to startle you.”

Crowley's smile grew, and they opened their eyes and stood up, able to half-walk half-swim in the deep saline water, going over to the side of the pool where Aziraphale sat. She was wearing a pretty dressing-gown over her pyjamas, and Crowley leaned their hands on the smooth tile, hosting themself up to kiss her. “You can't startle me. I can taste where you are, and how you are, you know that.” They winked. “Nice dream?”

“Crowley!”

Crowley laughed. “Don't worry – I only know the effect it was having on you,” they promised, and she went a little pinker.

“You were making love to me,” she admitted. “Not in a human way, you know I don't like squelchy things. But. You were, um. I can't explain it. But it felt good down there, and everywhere, for that matter,” she added thoughtfully.

“Good,” Crowley said firmly, and squeezed her foot. “D'you want to come in? It's wonderful.”

“Oh! Yes, if you want company?” She smiled shyly. “Some of us don't have snake tongues, you know. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“I would love company,” Crowley promised, and pushed away and floated a little, watching Aziraphale rise. She took off her dressing-down and her pyjamas, undressing efficiently, without a show, but incredibly beautiful just the same. There were a few angelic lights dancing around her; she couldn't see in the dark quite as well as Crowley could. And then, of course, then there was her in the water, slipping in and coming over to run a hand over their belly, admiring their corporation.

“Oh, my dear, this is new!”

Crowley laughed, and looked down at themself. A cock, for a change, and breasts, and not particularly skimping on either. “Not since Greece,” they said. “D'you like?”

“I adore, of course,” Aziraphale assured them. “You're very beautiful.” She tapped their forehead, just between their eyes, and Crowley obligingly crossed their eyes to make her smile. “ _Are_ you all right, darling?”

“Yes. Mostly.” Crowley stretched and stood up again, going into Aziraphale's arms, both of them warm and slippery and soft, standing there in the water. “I had a nightmare. Not about anything, I don't think, just a bad dream. Woke up and felt restless. Better now.”

“Good,” Aziraphale said, and kissed their cheek. “I love you.” She sank them slowly into the water, cradling Crowley up against her stomach and her breasts, shifting to hold them bridal-style as they both half-floated. Crowley sighed deeply, and very happily, resting their head on her shoulder and breathing in the smell of citrus and juniper and sleepy angel. It was still hours before the sun would be up, especially this late in the summer. 

They stayed in the water until dawn, flowing between silently soaking and floating, both together and apart, to twining their bodies together to kiss, over and over again, hands sliding across slippery skin, then resting again, then coming together, Crowley's legs wrapped around Aziraphale's hips, Aziraphale kissed their throat, their shoulders, pressing long, secret kisses onto their tattoo.

Crowley even briefly transformed into a snake, long and skinny, and wound their way around Aziraphale's limbs, squeezing to make her giggle, before flowing back into their human body, still cradled against her.

They got out when the sky was fully light, Aziraphale helping them back over to the shower for a quick sluice off, and the great joy of drying one another, and then dressing for the day. Crowley, of course, took only a quick snap of their fingers for a nice, knee-length skirt and t-shirt, while Aziraphale slipped into her dressing-gown to return to their bedroom.

“Go get dressed,” Crowley said. “I've got breakfast.”

Aziraphale kissed their cheek in a kind of wonderful, homey, married way. “Thank you, love. I'll be right down.”

And, feeling so thoroughly loved and content they couldn't quite look straight on at it, Crowley headed to the kitchen to see what they had on hand and what would need some miracling.

“ _Please_?” Crowley begged their beloved. “Please, angel, oh pretty please?”

“You needn't make a scene of it,” Aziraphale said, rolling her eyes. “Of course I'll read some more letters.”

“Yeah, but it's more fun this way,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale fixed them with a look.

“You are _unbearable_ ,” she informed them.

“...Yes? Demon?” Crowley laughed when Aziraphale curled a strand of copper hair around her fingers and gave a gentle yank. “That didn't hurt, you know.”

“It wasn't meant to, you'd enjoy that too much,” Aziraphale said sweetly.

“Urk,” Crowley said.

“Budge over,” Aziraphale told them, and Crowley obligingly made room for her. They were trying out a big Adirondack chair in this corner of the garden, tucked away on smooth moss under heavy shade. If Crowley mostly sat in Aziraphale's lap, there was definitely room for both of them. So there was definitely room for both of them.

They kissed a little bit, inevitably, and settled, and the box of letters appeared on a the handy table that held various victuals. Aziraphale's reading glasses were on top, and she carefully balanced them on her nose, and flicked through the stacks of letters to see what was next.

Crowley snuggled themselves a little more comfortably, enjoying Aziraphale's softness particularly today. They had worked apart again, this time with Crowley tiling the bathroom walls while Aziraphale painted a spare room that seemed likely to become mostly for storage.

(“Should we have a guest room?” Aziraphale asked tentatively.

“Do you...want one?” Crowley had replied.

“Not in the least,” Aziraphale concluded, and Crowley had laughed and said they liked the pale blue paint.)

With various fixtures and things shifted around, there was enough room for Crowley to navigate the space. Mostly they wanted to make sure that they could get to the secret door – and thus Aziraphale's library – with crutches or wheelchair. They were already plotting how to be her very secret and probably forbidden lover, sneaking in of a night for picnics before the fire with lots of kisses. They had a vague notion of perhaps being a princess who fell in love with the royal librarian. The story was very, very important of course, but mostly they liked the excuse to sneak in of a night and make out with the angel until dawn. Bonus points for annoying Aziraphale , who just wanted some uninterrupted reading time.

They drew their mind from figuring out the most irritating story that Aziraphale would agree to, and settled down for a little real-life story.

“Let's see – we left off right after Evangeline returned to England,” Aziraphale said. “Oh, gosh, it's almost six months to the next letter.”

“Probably busy doing all the things they wrote about,” Crowley said dryly.

“D'you really think they could have got all that done in six months?” Aziraphale asked, eyes going wide.

“I believe in them,” Crowley said, and gave her a little poke. “ _Read_.”

“Who taught _you_ manners?” Aziraphale asked, very, very slowly and carefully unfolding the letter.

“ _Beelzebub_ ,” Crowley snarked, and Aziraphale laughed and began to scan the fading writing. “Oh, it's 1963...Edith writing, from Wiltshire. Looks like Evangeline is still in London.

“Dearest Evangeline,” Aziraphale read. “I arrived just fine yesterday, of course. The countryside continues to be dreadful and very green. You would love it here, I suppose. Mary is well, though she'll be in plaster for a good long time, poor dove. She sends love and kisses and probably some chicken feathers. There are chickens _everywhere_ in the countryside. I do wish you could have got off work – you're so much better at being good and gentle and funny than I am. I think I'm a terrible nurse, but Mary swears I'm fine. She says after being fussed over, I am a breath of fresh air. We'll see when I become a disgusting sea chill!”

“Awww,” Crowley said. “Poor thing. I bet she was fine. Refreshing, like this Mary says.”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale said. “I'll remember that, mind. No fussing over you.”

“Quite right,” Crowley agreed. “What about you, angel? Since you seem to be the accident-prone one of the two of us.”

“Fuss,” Aziraphale said, very firmly. “I require fussing. All day, every day, please. Frankly, even when I'm well. Should I ever become injured or ill and we can't heal it, I will need absolutely _enormous_ amounts of attention.”

Crowley cackled, and hugged her and kissed her three times, they were so delighted. “My pillow princess!”

“Since you insist on calling me that, I figure I'd better live up to it,” Aziraphale said loftily. “Incidentally, my wine glass is empty.”

“I'm so in love with you I'm going to explode,” Crowley informed her, filling her glass with a thought, and kissing her again. “You were brought into being spoiled rotten, and I can only hope that I've helped a little.”

Aziraphale giggled, her facade breaking a little. “Crowley! It's all your fault I'm like this!”

“Best thing I ever did, then.”

“ _Stop_. I'm the unbearable one,” Aziraphale protested. 

“You stop. No, I mean it.” Crowley touched their foreheads together. “Aziraphale, you're not unbearable. I won't tease you about it if it leads to this, love. You _deserve_ attention, and care. I shouldn't say you're spoiled, because you're not, not really.”

“I am a bit,” Aziraphale said, going very pink and her eyes rather shiny.

“So? That isn't a sin. Neither is me loving you.” Crowley kissed her, very softly. “Don't ever, _ever_ think you're unbearable. Or that you don't deserve tenderness and care. I love falling over myself to fulfil your smallest whim, but even if I didn't, _you still deserve to be cared for._ ”

Aziraphale just smiled, and blinked her eyes hard. “I do love you, you know.”

“I know.” Crowley kissed her cheek. “Sorry to make you cry. Just. Love you too, y'know.”

“They're happy tears.” Aziraphale laughed, and leaned her head against Crowley's. “Well. Happy and overwhelmed. You know how it is.”

“Overwhelmed by feelings? Nah. Never happens to me,” Crowley said dryly, and Aziraphale laughed again. She did that a lot these days, and it never failed to fill Crowley with quiet joy, seeing his angel carefree and sweet.

“Right,” she said, turning back to the letter. “If you're quite done.”

Crowley gave her a little squeeze. In a rather specific place. “For the moment.”

Aziraphale sighed, and returned to her reading. “I can't wait for you to visit next weekend. I miss waking up next to you already, and I miss your wisdom and how you can make me laugh at anything. I'm a grumpy old thing when left to myself for too long.

“It isn't all bad, though, darling. It _is_ rather nice here; perhaps you'll make a country mouse of me someday. The chickens are funny little things, and the cats are all half-feral, and of course I love them already. It is much quieter than London, and cleaner too. I am not bored; plenty to do all day. And of course Mary is her usual dear old self, despite everything. She's holding up wonderfully despite the pain and discomfort of it all, and she's cheerful when I muck something up or need to ask her what needs doing for the eightieth time that day. I am learning, slowly, and will be able to teach you very exciting things about weeding gardens when you get out here!”

“Bet you ten to one she's responsible for half of this,” Crowley murmured, gesturing to the rest of the garden.

“Bet you you're right,” Aziraphale agreed. 

“I have a pretty little bedroom all picked out for us,” she continued to read, “up in the eaves, so you can be romantical and things about the sound of rain on the roof. There is a view of a tree. Please do not ask me what kind; it's big and green. You can tell me what it is when you see it. The bed will probably be a little small for two, but it's comfortable, and I think we'll be all right. And it's far enough from Mary's room that she won't hear us getting up to anything! She wouldn't mind, of course, but it seems mean to put that on top of everything else she's dealing with.”

“This is the least X-rated letter either of them have written yet,” Crowley observed, a little shocked.

“Well, they've only been apart for forty-eight hours,” Aziraphale said dryly.

Crowley sniffed. “Unimpressed.”

They got a nice, healthy pinch, and Aziraphale finished reading out the short letter, just little affections and promises to pick Evangeline up at the train station on Friday evening. And then a short, sweet declaration of love, and Edith signing her name with a flourish.

“You know,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully. “I _like_ these two.”

“Me too,” Crowley agreed. “What's next, angel? I missed my smut fix.”

“I'll give you a smut fix,” Aziraphale said darkly, and in the unsexiest manner she could approximate, squeezed one of Crowley's breasts through her shirt, making her beloved demon cackle out loud.

She opened the next letter, though, scanned the first paragraph and sighed deeply.

“What?” Crowley demanded, squinting at the writing. “ _What_?”

“Darling Edith,” Aziraphale read in an exhausted monotone. “I dreamed of your breasts last night. All of you, really, you were naked in my arms, your breasts pressed against mine. I licked your nipples until they were hard and you were moaning in my arms, tender and weak with passion. I could keep licking, keep kissing, and you just pressed harder against me, straddling my hip and grinding. I woke in glory, my hand between my legs, and the taste of your skin still in my mouth.”

“I was wrong, I _adore_ these horny little creatures,” Crowley said, eyes shining. “Thank you for my pornography, Aziraphale.”

“Please literally never say that to me again,” Aziraphale said desperately. “Really, I mean that.”

Crowley grinned, and kissed her cheek, but Aziraphale also knew they wouldn't say it again, and wouldn't ask why either. Best that way, really.

Aziraphale cleared her throat, sipped her wine, adjusted her glasses, and her little rituals complete, began to read aloud again, rather in love with her own non-horny little creature in her lap.

“All of which is to say I miss you, I suppose. Just a few more days though! Not long at all, and we'll have chickens and fresh air and half-feral cats and good things from the garden. I really am glad to hear that Mary's doing as best she can – give her loads of hugs and kisses from me, until I can give them myself, please. And take a few for yourself. You _are_ a wonderful nurse, darling. Refreshing is right, and never a damp sea wind. I love you so very much, my selfless girl who takes such good care of me, and all our friends. I'm not even too put out about having to share you for a bit – poor Mary needs you more than I do, even I'm not that selfish. 

“There isn't much to say from London; it's grey here today, but warm, and I'm drinking a lovely cup of tea and writing at our kitchen table. I _have_ done the dishes, you're very welcome! I'm meeting Anna and John at the park later, and shall probably have dinner with them. I shall try to do some interesting things to tell you about, but mostly I work, and of course the shop hardly ever changes. It's a good life we lead here, darling, and I adore it. Nearly as much as I adore you.

I won't bore you any longer – just promise to see you soon, and promise I love you. And you must promise to be as kind to yourself as you are to Mary. I know how you are. You are so beloved, Edith. I'll be there to remind you in person in just a few days! With all my love, Evangeline.”

Crowley smiled, and hugged Aziraphale tightly. “Please, a few more?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, laughing. “Crowley, I adore their letters too, dearest.” She reached for the next in the pile and opened it. “Oooh, this must be after Evangeline came and went. S'pose she could only get away for a weekend, or whatever.”

Crowley nodded, their head resting on Aziraphale's shoulder, feeling extremely well-loved.

“Darling Evangeline,” Aziraphale began. “You spoil me horribly, you know? Waking up two days in a row to your face buried between my legs – you do rather get a girl used to things!”

“That's my ladies!” Crowley cheered, while Aziraphale waited for her blush to fade.

“Do they have any hobbies?” Aziraphale wondered aloud.

“Sex is a hobby,” Crowley noted, and Aziraphale pointedly did not reply.

“My bed was lonely this morning and Mary teased me mercilessly, but it's well enough – you'll visit another time, and of course it's only three weeks until Alice gets here from Birmingham to take over,” Aziraphale continued to read. “Your visit was good for both of us, by the by – Mary sends extra love, and says thank you for cooking, and for the sweet-potato pie, she'd never tried that before. She also asks if you could bring her some hair grippers and a book, any book that she hasn't read fifty times already, is her request. For me, can you please bring my corduroy miniskirt? And if you see one, pick one up for Mary, though of course she'll have to wait, it'll hardly fit over her cast now. 

“Have I made us sound like distant country cousins enough yet? I do miss London, but I'm good with the chickens now, and the cats have stopped scratching me, and I managed to harvest some beans, so I'm becoming acclimated I suppose. My hair is not worth mentioning, mind. My hairdresser will be furious with me, but there we are. There's no one in the village who can do it.

“I love you, darling, and I miss you. I'm sorry we have to be apart, but you saw Mary; she needs all of us right now. I still don't think I'm a particularly good nurse, but we have some good laughs and she's doing as well as can be expected, so there we are. You'll be a breath of fresh air yourself, when you come visit.

I love you, I love you, I love you. Forever and always, Edith.”

Crowley smiled and hugged Aziraphale around the waist. “Oh, that was sweet. They're good girls, these two.”

“Listen to you, demon,” Aziraphale teased gently. “They are, though.”

“Retired,” Crowley said, even though they didn't _really_ consider themself so. They weren't human, and they certainly weren't angelic, so what did that leave? Demon, by process of elimination. Besides, they'd never been exactly brilliant at the job, why start now? “Letter,” they said, and poked their angel in the squishiest part of her side, because _demon_.

“Yes, love,” Aziraphale said calmly, because it didn't do to encourage Crowley. “Oh, look!” She laughed as the letter unfolded, and a picture fell out, landing soft on her lap. It was sharp and clear, in black and white, and showed two Black women, arms around each other's shoulders, laughing at the camera. They were pressed close, and were beautiful. “It's them!”

Crowley shouted with joy, and lifted the photo carefully, only touching around the edges. “Oh brilliant. We'll frame it, put it on the mantel.”

Aziraphale smiled, and blew softly on the photograph. It vanished from Crowley's fingertips. “Done,” Aziraphale informed them, and they grinned at each other and hugged.

“Now, let's see what that was all about.” Aziraphale adjusted her reading glasses, and got started.

“Dear Edith, it's only been a few days, and it's been too long! Let's try to not part for this long again? Though of course you're more use there than here. I'm sorry I cried when I saw Mary, I didn't mean to. But you can tell a girl something, like her friend's been in a car accident--” Aziraphale cut off, and looked at Crowley. “You all right?”

“Was going to ask you the same thing,” Crowley said with a sad smile. “I'm...all right.”

“Hold tight to me if you need to,” Aziraphale instructed.

“And even if I don't?” Crowley asked.

“I'm all right,” Aziraphale said softly. “For now. But yes, hold tight even if you don't need to.”

Crowley pressed a long kiss to Aziraphale's shoulder, and she began to read again.

“But you can tell a girl something, like her friend's been in a car accident, and it just doesn't match up to seeing her in person. I know I made a fool of myself, and I'm sorry, to both of you. It was worse than I expected, but of course she'll be right as rain soon. See, this is why you went – no silly sobbing or anything like that!”

“Hopefully she got some therapy someday,” Crowley mumbled, and Aziraphale kissed their tattoo.

“My amateur dramatics aside, it was wonderful to see you both. All right, especially to see you, I can admit it. And the farm was so much fun! We should get chickens of our own someday, and maybe a little bolthole in the country.”

“ _Little_ ,” Aziraphale mumbled, looking over at the monstrosity that she was somehow part owner of.

“She had a while for her daydreams to grow,” Crowley pointed out with a grin.

“ _Little_ ,” Aziraphale, who had actually gotten biceps, repeated. She took up reading again, though. “Until then, we've got a place to visit. I know you love London, but I miss wide green spaces. I'm enclosing a couple pictures – mostly for Mary, although the extra one of us is just for you. I'm renting a darkroom next week, so I should be able to develop the ones of us that are just _for_ us. I'll hold those for you, when you get home. I know you don't need an incentive, but just in case!

“Right, got to run now. I love you. I miss you. I love you. Yours always, Evangeline.” Aziraphale gently re-folded the letter and put it on top of their 'done' pile. “Oh, poor girl, she must have been a mess.”

“Reckon Edith'll set her straight in the next letter?” Crowley asked, and reconsidered their words. “Well, not _straight_ straight. Particularly not with the dirty photos waiting for her at home.”

Aziraphale laughed. “I expect not.” The sun was starting to set, and she wanted a bit more than the nibbles. “One more letter, then let's go out for dinner, love?”

“'Course, angel,” Crowley promised. “Let's see what Edith has to say.”

Aziraphale grinned, and opened the next letter on the stack, by now quite recognising Edith's handwriting. “Oh, bless her, it's dated the next day.”

“Darling,” Aziraphale began to read. “You silly goose. It's all right that you cried, you soft-hearted thing. Mary was happy to get to give you a little cuddle and a kiss, and she said to tell you there's plenty more the next time you come visit. I'm writing this under her watchful eye – she is THE MOST DREADFUL TASKMASTER,” this bit written large enough, presumably, to ensure Mary saw it,”who ever lived. We both say thank you for our photos, and I can't wait to see the ones you got of the two of us – I _know_ you took at least one while I was orgasming, and I want to know if I look as silly as I always think I do. Did you notice the dildo is missing yet? I brought it out here with me, so the country air and the chickens and such wouldn't make me too pure. I want to stay your sexy little thing, of course. I'll fuck you the next time you come visit, if you like, and if you promise to make all those delicious noises.”

“Goodness,” Aziraphale said. “ _Some_ one can't go three days without a little pussy.”

Crowley laughed so hard they actually fell out of the chair, and had to be helped back on by an angel who had forgotten she promised to never fuss not an  _ hour _ ago if that.

“Are you quite sure you're all right?” she asked, smoothing her hand over Crowley's hip.

“Maybe a few bruises,” Crowley said, bemused. “You can kiss them better later. You absolute bitch, I love you so much.”

Aziraphale rolled her eyes. “Well, really, it hasn't even been a  _ week _ .”

Crowley cackled some more, while Aziraphale found her spot in the letter. “Right.” A clearing of the throat. “Honestly, a good hard fuck will do you good, love. You silly girl, Mary will be just fine. And we'll be together again soon. Let's not do this again, though – not if we can help it. I miss you too big. My pussy aches when I think of you, but so does my heart. Sweet girl, you're the light of my life, and I can't believe we were born thousands of miles apart, and still found each other. No one's as lucky as us.

“So don't be sad, darling, and don't feel bad for crying. Stay cheerful, and enjoy London for me, and I'll see you soon. With all my love, Edith.”

Aziraphale was quiet, staring down at the letter in her hand for so long that Crowley started to worry a little, and slipped their arms around her shoulders, pressing a long kiss to her cheek.

“No, no, I'm fine,” Aziraphale insisted, blinking. “I am.”

“I know, love,” Crowley murmured, but they also gently took the letter out of Aziraphale's hand, refolded it, added it to the right pile, and closed the box up and set it aside to give her time to decide what feeling she was having.

She sighed a little, and relaxed in Crowley's arms, resting her head on their shoulder. The sun was quite low now, a beautiful evening stealing on. The wine was long gone of course, and they'd soon head out to dinner, find a nice quiet pub somewhere, and eat together before they drove back home to a gentle evening, Crowley pottering about while Aziraphale read, most likely. It was going to be utterly lovely.

“I don't want to say she's wrong,” Aziraphale finally said.

“Hmmm?”

“That seems mean. And it's not...it isn't really a competition. Only –“ Aziraphale looked at them with shining eyes. “No one's as lucky as _us_. You're my hereditary enemy. If I'd never been sent to Earth, or you hadn't...”

“Shhh, love,” Crowley murmured, and kissed her silver-blonde curls. “What if's don't help anyone. You were and I were and we fell in love and now we own the stupidest house ever built, and I love you more every single day.”

They could feel Aziraphale smile, and her arms tightened for a moment. “You're right,” she said, voice steadier now, her voice gentle and warm. “I love you too, Crowley. Come, let's get supper.” And they did.


	26. Chapter 26

Crowley regarded the bathroom walls, but she really had gone as high as she could reach, and it was time for Aziraphale to take over. She was not enormously in love with the concept of Aziraphale on a ladder, but there wasn't much to be done about it. At least she could hover nearby, miracle poised and ready while she pretended to do...something else.

“Your timing is shit,” she informed her lap, where her hips twisted and her skeletal structure utterly refused to understand that it was human, not snake. Even her back was doing some strange things, was too loose somehow. Bloody annoying.

Still, she'd done as much as she could, and Aziraphale had been happy as a clam at being asked to destroy some unwanted parts of the garden. Funny, how they switched places. Sweet, but funny.

Crowley stuck her tongue out at the walls, but her work here was done, so she wheeled herself over to the window, just leaning on her forearms and watching. She had to crane a little to see Aziraphale, but it was worth it, and Crowley treated herself to a little ogling. What a beauty her angel was! Aziraphale was wearing her usual ridiculous canvas trousers, and was experimenting with linen smocks. It had been vests for a bit, but the heat of summer had passed them over in long, glorious days. Crowley regretted a little that they hadn't gone on more picnics but, well, there would be next summer for that. Better they have a house and garden that pleased them, and they had both enjoyed the work. They were  _ building _ something – had built it, really. After the bathroom got tiled, there really wasn't much else that needed doing, other than the library which Aziraphale still swore she was leaving for autumn.

Well – it was nearly autumn. There was a bite in the air in the mornings, a promise of winter's cold. They had picked their first apple, and gone out wildcrafting brambles. Aziraphale had gotten magnificently stained and scratched (quickly miracled away by Crowley, obviously), scrambling up a small hilltop while Crowley picked ones more in reach. They had made the jam together, and they ate it together on bread from the village bakery.

(Aziraphale had promised to master sourdough over the winter, and Crowley was cautiously looking forward to the experiments to come.)

The garden hadn't been up to muster of course, but it was all right for a first year. Better next year, Crowley reckoned, taking in the roses just settling in, the vegetable patches that were doing all right, and would do better with proper compost and fertilizer and such things. The fruit trees were absolutely disgraceful, but the other trees did their duty. A weeping willow to nap under, a great oak with a natural seat where Aziraphale read for hours. Smaller trees here and there, and a holly that would provide decoration come the holidays.

She smiled, pleased with her little domain. Of course, she smiled where none of them could see. Wouldn't do to encourage plants, they got  _ ideas _ .

Of course Aziraphale looked up then, and waved a cheerful hello. “All done, darling?” she called up, before wiping the sweat from her brow like she didn't know that made Crowley's knees absolutely turn to  _ jelly _ .

“Far as I can go, angel,” she called back, quietly miracling any sweat and muck and such away until she sat there, pristine as the morning. Her hair looked _fantastic_ today.

“I'll be up in a moment,” Aziraphale called. “Just about done here!” And she blew a kiss. And, since no one was watching, Crowley caught it, and touched her palm to her lips.

“Oh, you.” Aziraphale set about tidying up, and Crowley tried to do the same.

True to her word, Aziraphale appeared in the bathroom not much later. “Oh gosh, darling, you did tons!” She leaned over and kissed Crowley thoughtlessly, the sweet kind of greeting that neither of them really noticed, but both of them quietly adored. “Just another day in here, I think.” She chewed her lip and looked at the shower. “Let's say two, to be safe.”

“I can help you, too,” Crowley said. “Move tiles closer or whatever.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully, taking in what needed doing. “Between the two of us, this'll be quite easy.” She smiled. “I'll go get the stepladder, darling. Let's start in the far corner and work to the doorway.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Even if she'd figured out Crowley wanted to keep her in sight, Aziraphale wasn't letting on. And she _could_ help, even if she couldn't work up high.

A little to her surprise, Crowley did help things go faster. A mix of making sure Aziraphale had everything to hand – she hadn't realised how much she'd criss-crossed the floor working on her own – and simply a bit of company, the two of them chattering casually as they worked. Gossip about their children, of course. Wondering about Edith and Evangeline; they'd read to the end of Edith caring for their friend and returning home, and put the rest of the letters away for a treat for another time.

“I hope someone writes how Mary winds up,” Aziraphale said quietly, working on a tricky bit in a corner.

“Me too,” Crowley said. “Though I'm sure she was fine. They both kept reassuring each other that she'd be all right.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I know. But I worry. I'm sure she's passed away by now, or is a very old lady, but still.”

“Still,” Crowley agreed, and rolled herself back as Aziraphale moved the ladder over a few feet. “I also want to know if Evangeline ever got Edith to six orgasms in a night.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale laughed, the bittersweet turning sweet again as she worked, good and fast now with a little advice called up to her.

They didn't quite finish that day, but Crowley reckoned it would be just a few more hours as she helped Aziraphale tidy up, everything ready for tomorrow.

“Go clean up,” she urged. “I'll set out some wine and nibbles and such in the garden, we've earned it.”

Aziraphale giggled and leaned over to kiss her again, and one more time. “Yes, please.” She took Crowley's hands and squeezed them lightly. “Thank you. For looking out for me.”

“Well, yeah. 'course.” Crowley ducked her head. “Get. I'm going to miracle myself outside.”

Aziraphale frowned a bit. “Are you hurting, love?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Lazy, more than anything.” Crowley smiled and held Aziraphale's hand to one of her hips, letting her feel how it twisted a bit funny. “No more than an ache, I promise. Just easier to stick to the chair.”

“All right.” Aziraphale kissed her again, and took herself off. 

After a string of demonic miracles, Crowley was quite satisfied that the new wine and plate of cheese and crackers was up to snuff. She had settled herself in one of the big Adirondack chairs they often snuggled in together, and breathed in the last, fullest part of the summer, round and golden and rich. The air was already hinting at cool, and she opted to manifest a sweatshirt. One that was a bit oversized and cut off at the midriff, of course. She had  _ style _ .

Aziraphale came out looking freshly-scrubbed and more angelic-bastard than usual in a fine casual-for-her suit and a rather cozy-looking jacket. Of course, she squeezed in beside Crowley, the two of them fitting around each other in a system born of long practice, and accepted her glass of wine with grateful thanks.

“Soon be done,” she noted. “Everything but my library, I mean.”

“Mmmhmm.” Crowley laid her head on Aziraphale's shoulder and sipped her wine. “Evenings are drawing in. Just a bit, but summer's over, love.”

“Nearly so,” Aziraphale agreed softly. “It's been the best one of my life, you know.”

“Oh, angel.” Crowley blinked her eyes hard. “Even after – with the Bentley?”

“Crowley! Of course, even after that!” Aziraphale hugged her hard enough to squeak. “Awful as that was, it was _nothing_ compared to all the joys I've had. With you.” A pause. “And the house. But frankly, _you_ didn't drop a wall on me.”

Crowley giggled, remembering. “You're a lot easier to handle than those walls in our bedroom,” she said cheerfully. “Can't just get  _ them _ sozzled and tell them their eyes are pretty.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was still smiling, though, and Crowley was still in her arms, so that was all right.

“They're all the best of my life,” she said softly, suddenly.

“Hmmm?” Crowley had been admiring the little archway of roses that started one of the paths that twisted through their garden. It had been a _very_ stubborn climbing rose, but it had also persisted in having the loveliest deep red blooms, so Crowley had put the time in to teach it properly, rather than burning it to the earth _as it deserved_.

“This summer. Every summer. Since the world was saved,” Aziraphale explained. “It's been the best of my life. It just...gets better. Every year. Oh, I'm sorry, I'm not explaining this properly at all.”

“You're fine, love,” Crowley said softly. Aziraphale wasn't saying it, not exactly, but every summer since they had kissed for the first time had been better than the last. “It's the same. For me.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale got an arm around her tight, and pressed little kisses to her hairline. “I do love you.”

“Love you too,” Crowley breathed, snuggled and held by her angel in their garden just outside their giant, stupid house. 

They were quiet a bit, then one remembered a funny story from the village last week, and the other remembered a funny story from Mesopotamia, and back and forth with the silly sweet things of love, of all the years they'd lived together and apart.

(It had been particularly sweet when Aziraphale was bitching about something or other just after the Flood, and Crowley had loudly and gleefully recognised it as her very own work. Aziraphale's squawk of indignation was  _ beautiful _ .)

Crowley laughed, and drank deep from her wine. “Angel,” she said, getting a brilliant idea. “We need a  _ holiday _ . 'Tis the season.”

“That's a saying for Christmas, and you know it,” Aziraphale said. “But you're not wrong.” Half the village had gone to Majorca, it seemed like. Even Bee had mentioned his Nan was gallivanting around Portugal for a few weeks. “We've earned it,” she said, as her beloved filled her wineglass and she nibbled a bit of cheddar with just a dab of mustard on top of it. 

“Yeah,” Crowley said, and _meant_ it. They'd worked hard on the house, and done something to be proud of. Aziraphale had gently herded her children through sorrows and joys. If they were going to go native, they got to have this, too; a fortnight someplace warm, by the water, although probably not Majorca. Crowley wanted to be _quite_ certain that no one but her was going to see Aziraphale sunbathe. They hadn't earned the right to such glories, and also probably this way Aziraphale would agree to forego any kind of bathing costume at all.

“Where d'you want to go, then?” Aziraphale asked, playing a little idly with Crowley's hair, petting the soft undercut part. “I assume it will be someplace quiet and private.”

“Oh, absolutely. And hot, I want _sunshine._ Water, where we can swim and float and play as we like.” Crowley turned her wineglass in the sun, admiring it. “The sea. You love saltwater.”

“I do,” Aziraphale agreed softly. “And mountains around us. You like how safe they make you feel.”

Crowley smiled softly. “True,” she admitted. “And beautiful weather – sunsets and blue water and peace for us.”

“I know just the place,” Aziraphale said. “After we're done the bathroom, give me a day to sort things out?”

“Do I get to find out where?” Crowley asked, bemused by the prospect of a surprise. Aziraphale was awful at surprises.

“Yes, when I miracle us there,” Aziraphale said sweetly, and Crowley was so in love she didn't even argue that a holiday was _her_ idea, she should be the one to plan it. Next summer, she reckoned. Maybe up north, to cool forests and jagged mountains. 

“Mind that there's something other than books there, angel,” she grumbled for the look of it. “I expect a bed, you know.”

“Oh, there will be a _bed_ ,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley realised that she had spent the last approximately half a year teaching possibly the most hedonistic being in existence all about the many and varied ways to make a bed the centre of one's comfort. This was going to be _glorious_.

Perhaps spurred by the possibility of a holiday, they made short work of re-tiling the bathroom, even finishing the shower cubicle in the pretty little blue tiles Aziraphale had fallen in love with and Crowley pretended to grumble about. They had worked surprisingly well together again; Crowley truly had expected to be underfoot and for Aziraphale to be prissy and annoying, but they'd laughed and teased each other and paused at one point for Crowley to simply pull Aziraphale into her lap and bury her face in her lady's cleavage, such as it was under her disappointingly voluminous shirt.

Aziraphale had giggled and cuddled her back, indulging them both for a few moments before insisting they get back to work, and could Crowley be a love and open a new thing of polyfilla?

Crowley could, pleased she could help while keeping the ladder steady and Aziraphale safe. She could also swear the bathroom had gotten just a bit bigger than yesterday; had she always been able to navigate it so easily?

Still. They worked together and Aziraphale finished everything to the ceiling, then hardly paused to change into something clean before she kissed Crowley goodbye. “I'll be back for dinner,” she promised.

“I'll start packing,” Crowley teased, like she wouldn't miracle any and everything she needed. “Oh. Can you make sure I'm okay in this?” she asked, touching the wheel of her chair. “It's easier than crutches, sometimes.”

Aziraphale gave her her very best indignant/offended look. “ _ Demon Crowley _ . I would  _ hope _ I could miracle you an accessible holiday home!”

Crowley grinned, feeling...warm. Uncomfortably seen. Cherished. It made her feel soft and tender and in love and also gave her a touch of indigestion, or maybe that was the feel of being in love too. “I know, I know, but the wheelchair's even newer.”

Aziraphale rolled her eyes and kissed Crowley – and not lightly either. And while Crowley was still sort of dazed, she snapped her fingers, and was gone.

“Well,” Crowley said to the empty air. “That's me told.” And that was also her with a few hours free to cause whatever havoc she wanted, free of angelic influence. It was a lovely day, and she thought a drive might be just the thing, and then some tea in the garden.

That was where Aziraphale found her after a day of some heavy miracling, the low golden rays of the setting sun lighting up their garden and spotlighting Crowley. Her hair glowed a brilliant flame-colour, all reds and golds, and Aziraphale just drank in the sight of her for a moment, before going over to get a hug hello.

“All set?” Crowley asked.

“All set,” Aziraphale promised. “D'you want to go tonight, love?”

Crowley shook her head. “Let's go out to dinner here, if you're not too tired. And I know you'll want to pack books and clothes and things.”

Aziraphale conceded the point, settling into one of their patio chairs. “Where d'you want to go, love?”

Crowley shrugged. “Figured we could drive over to the village, walk around a bit, see what looks good? I'm fine on crutches,” she said.

“If you promise you truly are,” Aziraphale said. “That sounds utterly lovely.” Their village was tiny and cute and not over-accessible, which was not a thing Aziraphale loved as a general rule.

“I promise. It's...they're easier for different things?” Crowley tried to explain. “The chair is good for working 'cause I have my hands free and I can keep things on my lap, but it's easier to get around on crutches a lot of the time. I guess if I'm tired a wheelchair is easier, but I just go take a nap then.”

Aziraphale smiled and bowed her head a moment, taking in the new ways Crowley was learning to move through the world. Her job, she reckoned, was to help if it was needed, and get out of the way when it wasn't.

They had a lovely dinner in an equally lovely little pub, followed by a nice meander in the village streets as the sun set, and even a little jaunt along the canal. Crowley proved to do just fine on crutches if they went a bit slow, which was essentially never a hardship for Aziraphale.

They drove home in the peaceful late-summer dark, and muddled about their room, a cup of tea for a little nightcap and Aziraphale setting aside a pile of books.

“Not going to pack clothes?” Crowley asked from where she lounged on the bed.

“I wasn't aware you wanted me to _wear_ clothes,” she parried, and Crowley choked on nothing. 

“I'm okay with that,” she finally wheezed, while Aziraphale _smirked_ at her. _This_ was an angel? No wonder humanity had to be the one to save the world. “Big fan of no clothes, me. Specially on you.”

“Well, tough luck,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley whined loudly. “Look, I'm just going to bring some cover-ups really, maybe a linen suit if I want to get fancy, so you needn't look like a kicked puppy.”

“Bathing costume?” Crowley asked sadly.

“You _know_ I can't abide wet fabric on me,” Aziraphale said prissily. “I shall bathe in the nude, and you needn't look like that. You know bloody well what my body looks like, it's not going to be a surprise.”

“It's not about the surprise,” Crowley protested. “You're right, I do know what you look like, and I'm bloody lucky to have that. It's about...you're beautiful, angel. I like seeing you happy in your skin.”

“Oh. Well.” Aziraphale smiled at her, and then disappeared behind the screen to rummage in her wardrobe. “We're right on the water, so like as not you'll see a lot of me.”

Crowley simply sighed happily, and hoped Aziraphale was picking out some very exciting underwear for when she  _ did _ get dressed. And then undressed. Slowly. For Crowley.

As usual, Aziraphale took approximately a hundred years to pack, and it was so late when she came to bed that Crowley had mostly drifted off, waking up just a little when she felt the mattress sink and Aziraphale climb in.

“Mmmmrrrr,” she mumbled and rolled over, snuggling up to this new pillow.

“Yes, love,” Aziraphale said, her voice low and rough and rumbly and so nice as she petted Crowley's hair for a moment. “Shhh, go back to sleep, darling.”

“Mmf.”

Aziraphale laughed softly. “Do you want to wake up on holiday, Crowley? I'll pop us there in the night and you can wake to the call of sea-birds and the smell of salt.”

_ This _ woke Crowley up. Well, sort of. “Zira, you sure?” she mumbled. “Been doing so many miracles. Should rest.”

“Hush now, love. I feel wonderful, and I've got two weeks of rest ahead of me – you can take care of meals and such.” She buried her fingers in Crowley's hair and started to scritch her scalp, and it felt amazing. “Go to sleep, and you'll wake up in paradise, all right?”

“Already there,” Crowley mumbled, but she also snuggled closer to Aziraphale's leg and let herself drift off, sweet and slow in their soft bed. She sort of hoped Aziraphale would bring the bed along, and then she was deeply asleep.

Aziraphale smiled, watching Crowley's body go heavy and easy, letting herself thrill to how in love she was. Letting herself just – love. Adore. Float in the love she felt in their home, in her own heart, the love that surrounded Crowley like an aura, even in sleep. She was going to give her darling the best holiday she'd ever had, doubly-so during a time her body wasn't always doing what she wanted it to. She'd fretted about that, before realising that she could do a bit of research, and by simply materializing both crutches and wheelchair, and testing out the space for herself; she knew well enough how Crowley moved. And it had gone well, and could be changed of course, but she did want everything perfect. Crowley deserved perfect.

It was late, so late in the darkest, quietest time of the night, when Aziraphale silently performed the miracle that transported them, and her luggage, to the little house she'd built into the cliffside on the Sea of Marmara.

Immediately, the air was warmer, and she was glad she'd given them a new bed. Just as soft and big and comfortable as their one at home, but with light linen sheets, to keep her demon cool. And it was really quite beautiful, carved of olive-wood, four-postered but without curtains, just swathes of silk, red and black and cream and gold, decorating the poles.

She looked around their little home – a single room with a bed, a little spot for making tea the human way, a cozy seating area. The table and chairs were outside on a veranda under a roof of roses. There was a big smooth, flat space intended to hold whatever they needed, and the sea came right up to it, easy for either of them to get into and swim in the wine-dark waters.

But just now it was still night, the world still under the stars. Aziraphale checked on Crowley, but she was still fast asleep. The smell of the sea and hot stone was in the air, and Aziraphale knew she'd wake in joy, ready for a breakfast of coffee and baklava and a day of loving each other and swimming and doing as they pleased.

She dared a soft kiss to Crowley's temple, lit a tiny spark of miraculous light, and picked up her book to read until Crowley woke, and they could begin their holiday properly.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the penultimate chapter! Just one more chapter to round things out :)

Aziraphale wound up reading until a bit after dawn, when she found herself getting peckish. It was a quick matter to manifest her own breakfast of mouthwatering fresh fruits and toast with honey and good hot coffee, and to eat quietly by a window with only the wind off the sea and a good book for company.

She was still nursing said coffee when Crowley began to stir.

“Morning, darling,” Aziraphale called happily. The sea breeze was wonderfully cool, and ruffled her curls so nicely, she thought. There was a barber in the village who was nearly the match for the one she had in London, and he'd tamed her hair into something short-cropped and handsome, and put something in that actually defined the curls, rather than her usual fluff. To top it all off, she was wearing very crisp linen pyjamas and felt deliciously butch and handsome. About everything, really.

“Blurh,” Crowley said, and pushed themself up. Their hair was...certainly doing a thing. “Zira?”

“Just over here, love,” she said, and belied her own words by coming over to the bed and kissing Crowley awake. “We're on holiday.”

“Oi! We are!” This woke them up considerably faster, and Crowley grinned suddenly. They ran a hand through their hair, and left behind smooth and shining waves with a freshly-shaven undercut. “Morning, angel.” They squeezed Aziraphale's thigh – well, a handful of thigh, no single hand could span that glorious expanse. “You look ravishing. Coffee?”

“Stay in bed, I'll bring you a cup,” Aziraphale said, going back over the the little table and pouring it from the carafe. She doctored the stuff with cream and sugar, and brought it over to her pretty snake with a kiss.

“There you go then, my love” Aziraphale said cheerfully. They were on holiday! A real holiday! And not even a tiny chance of being recalled to work, because they didn't have work. They were _retirees_ , and it was wonderful.

“So where are we?” Crowley asked, when they'd had a bit of coffee and had recovered from the reality of their cheerful, gorgeous wife. Subtly, they switched their own pyjamas into a soft, frothy nightgown, feeling rather femme and pretty and always a fan of a bit of contrast. And if they were going to go to the effort to have breasts, might as well show them off.

“On the sea of Marmara, south of Istanbul,” Aziraphale said, while giving her a _very_ appreciative look. “No one for miles around, I promise – we're literally in a mountain.”

Crowley laughed and looked around at their cozy little holiday home, and the vast, open windows that looked out onto the sea. Of course, the view from the bed was stunning; Aziraphale could be trusted in such things.

The two of them drank their coffee together in bed as the morning breeze riffled the waves and everything smelled of salt and hot sunlight, even at this time of day. The heat was already melting into Crowley's bones, and oh they were _very_ happy their angel was so clever.

Crowley finished their coffee, set the mug aside, and drew Aziraphale into their arms, kissing her soft and sweet, enjoying the sound of Aziraphale's little hum, and the feel of her arms, a warm hand on their waist, drawing them into slow kisses.

“I love you,” they whispered in her ear. “Thank you. This is perfect.”

“Good,” Aziraphale murmured back. “I love you too, Crowley.” She let her jaw drop a little, and Crowley did the same, and they simply kissed for a long time, their bodies pressed together, glorying in being able to do precisely as they wished. Idly, Crowley thought about undoing a few buttons of that linen pyjama top. Of kissing down Aziraphale's throat, her collarbones. Of the soft sounds she made and the way she arched her back, encouraging Crowley to explore and tastes. Of a few more buttons undone, and kissing her chest, tasting her breasts.

But they were a lazy snake, and anyway her mouth was plenty intoxicating for the moment. Perhaps tomorrow, they'd breakfast instead on the taste where Aziraphale's breasts rested on her round belly, the softest place in the universe.

When they had kissed and cuddled and held each other enough – for the moment – Crowley took care of the breakfast dishes with a wave of their hands, and also manifested  _ rather _ a cute little bikini, they though. There wasn't much to it, but they liked how the legs were cut high and it showed off their rare use of male genitals. The top was simple and pretty, cupping their breasts and pushing them up and together, and in general they felt rather sexy. Matte black crutches were manifested, and they finally deigned to rise from the bed – which was  _ very _ comfortable, it had to be said – to explore.

Not that that took very long; there was their little home, the comfortable seating and wide, open windows taken in in a single glance. And then the big apron of rough, sun-warmed yellow stone that led down to the water, the shady dining area looking wonderfully inviting off to one side. Aziraphale went outside with them, book in hand, and quickly settled in a lounge chair in a well-shaded corner, a glass of lemonade to hand.

Crowley kept exploring, though. The hard, flat rock was easy to traverse on crutches, and she guessed that a wheelchair would roll just as nicely, which made her smile a little. The broad, empty patio could hold whatever they liked, and Crowley daydreamed of sleeping under the stars. Of making a little nest of cushions and a mattress and blankets, and gazing up at the clear sky while the heat of the mountain radiated into them.

The little dining area was exquisitely pretty on close examination, and Crowley approved of the generously-sized table, comfortable chairs, and the fragrant, flowering vines that created a green roof and encouraged lingering, having just one more glass of wine or oh, have another pudding, angel, you know you like them so much.

So far, so good; Aziraphale certainly knew how to go on holiday in style. However, Crowley reckoned they ought to put a little graft in too. And there – just behind the dining set, where the mountain started again, they carved away a little more space. A curving path that descended easily enough that Crowley could go up and down just fine. With a gesture, they hid the entrance with old trees and bushes, but once you knew where it was, and had gone past the great cedar sentinels, the path opened up. One then descended to below and behind where Aziraphale had built their holiday home, and the space opened out into a fragrant, shaded garden with soft moss to walk on and a stream that flowed into a tiny waterfall, and a little pool where one could sit and soak one's feet, perhaps, surrounded by lush greenery and that blue-blue sky high above.

Crowley made roses grow, because Aziraphale loved roses, and when they looked up from their creations, the space was heady with the perfume of them. They grinned, because there was no such thing as 'too much' when it came to Aziraphale. They'd get drunk on the smell of roses together – later, though.

Their little gift done, Crowley returned to the main level, and headed straight for the water.

It was lovely, the way it came right up to their lanai; there was a long, shallow ramp off to one side, but if Crowley stayed on the same side where Aziraphale was still lost in her book, the ledge simply dropped off into the deep, cold waters.

Crowley had found that it was a little easier to sit in a chair first, settle their crutches, _then_ slide to the ground, so that's what they did before going straight into the sea with a happy whoop at the chill salt water.

They swam deep and far, relying on not needing oxygen really, and let the cool salt water hold them. Clothes were stupid at this point, so a quick miracle took care of them until later. Never knew when one might want to tease Aziraphale and all. Crowley's long limbs were strong – maybe not angelic-strong, but arms and legs pulled them through the water until they came up to the surface and lay on the swells, the soft rocking from the world.

They let the sea hold them a little, not examining too deeply what it meant to be cradled in the arms of Earth, to be rocked like a mother would her child. To be supported, lightened, by the soft salt water. To move easily and freely even if their pelvis canted at a strange angle and their back did a funny thing. All that was stuff that couldn't be helped anyway; better to dive again and let the ocean run its fingers through their hair. To enjoy using arms and legs and the strength of their body to pull them through the universe, or at least this corner of it.

Crowley dove and played with the water, was rocked by swells and lay back and fell into the endless blue of the sky, the particular pure blue they had first seen when the world was very young. The low, old mountains were yellow under the scrub of trees, and the sea was deep blue, truly wine-dark. Pure colours, washed under a powerful sun, and Crowley absorbed that too, sunning their tummy like an otter.

Eventually, swimming alone fulfilled, they returned to shore with steady strokes and kicks through the water. Crowley got themself up and out of the water, then onto the chair – a pretty thing of olive wood, never say they didn't have  _ any _ taste – and onto crutches to make their way over to where Aziraphale read peacefully in the shade.

“Incoming!” they warned cheerfully to give Aziraphale a moment to put her book away, because honestly they were really losing their demonic edge, but the shrieking couldn't be abided. Not about that anyway – of course they immediately flung their soaking-wet self into her arms, making sure to wriggle and get her quite damp. _Very_ demonic.

Aziraphale yowled, the sound music to Crowley's ears. It was ruined only a little by the fact that she also hugged them, arms coming around their waist, and tilted her head down for a kiss. Which turned into several kisses, each deeper than the last, their mouths opening for each other.

“I love you,” Crowley breathed, the first words they'd spoken in hours, and they tucked their head under Aziraphale's, cradled now on that familiar, soft body.

“I love you too, demon,” Aziraphale said softly, stroking their hair. “Good swim?”

“Mmmhmm.” How was she suddenly tired? But her limbs were like lead, here in this warm, safe place. And Aziraphale was stroking their back now, careful to stop before she reached their bum but otherwise clearly revelling in touch. 

“Shhh. Take a little nap. I'm not going anywhere,” she murmured.

Crowley hugged her hard. No angel leaving, no angel going. Staying here, and they fell asleep between one breath and the next,  _ hard _ .

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley's slight weight and their jumbled limbs. Just like a puppy, tired out from playing. They'd sleep hard and fast, she reckoned, familiar with the taxonomy of Crowley naps now. When she woke they could have lunch together, and then Aziraphale thought she might bathe a bit in the sea, escape the hottest part of the day in lovely cold waters.

Crowley did indeed nap only a little while, waking with a cute yawn and more hugs and snuggles and little kisses. They were bright-eyed, waking as fast as they'd fallen asleep, and quickly wriggled into sitting up. “Let me get lunch?” they asked, sat on the side of Aziraphale's chaise. “You've made this whole beautiful place, you ought to take a break.”

“I'm hardly tired,” Aziraphale assured them. “But of course you may, dearest.” 

Crowley grinned and headed over to the little outdoor eating spot, blessedly shaded. “Give me five minutes.”

Predictably, Aziraphale counted off precisely five minutes before rising, drying and un-wrinkling the suit she had changed into, and walked over to a delicious spread.

“My dear, you've outdone yourself,” she praised, leaning over to kiss Crowley sweetly. “This looks utterly scrummy.”

“Aw, 's'not much,” Crowley mumbled, and poured her a glass of sweet wine. “Eat.”

“With such pleasure,” Aziraphale said happily, sitting beside the love of her life and feasting on ceviche and olives and fresh bread. The sea air always did give her an appetite. And Crowley looked so lovely in nothing but their skin, already tanning gold. It was inevitable that they held hands, or touched one another, or kissed regularly, in between bites of lunch.

“What were you doing over here?” Aziraphale asked, when they were finishing their wine, easy under the shade and with a sea breeze. “I could taste you working miracles.”

Crowley grinned and winked. “I'll show you in a bit. But you should bathe while the sun's high, angel, the sea's lovely.”

“You just want to get me naked,” Aziraphale said.

“Yup!” Crowley acknowledged cheerfully. They genuinely wondered about the next time they'd actually wear clothes. Maybe a pretty dress for Aziraphale, but that was about it, they reckoned. 

Aziraphale just smiled, and Crowley felt a little smidge of worry. “Hey, dove?” they said softly. “You know you don't owe me your body.”

Aziraphale blinked at them, and tilted her head to one side. “I...yes?”

“Sorry,” Crowley muttered. “Just. I know I'm teasing you a lot and I love you naked but if you don't want to...I love you then, too. Um. I know you know, just. Uh.”

Aziraphale's smile grew. “Thank you. I do know, but still – thank you. I like that you'll look after me, if I ever forget to look after myself.”

“Forever,” Crowley said automatically, and flushed, and smiled. They liked to think they could take care of Aziraphale. Probably not to the standard that she really deserved, but they could get by. “Just. I know Heaven. Were kind of dicks about your body?”

Aziraphale laughed. “To say the least. Which is silly – there are other chubby angels, though admittedly they're all probably rather a lot more active than I am. Well, was.” She smiled warmly at Crowley. “I promise you, I love my body. I think I always did, but it not very nice to be told to lose the gut no matter how comfortable one is.”

Crowley nodded. “Okay. Good. I'm glad you always loved your body. Sssso did I.” The wine must be getting to them. That was why they were going snake-y. Just the wine.

Presumably Aziraphale agreed, because she set her glass aside and clapped her hands, like the enormous dork she was. “Right, into the water with both of us, then. What a wonderful lunch, darling, thank you very much.”

“Oh, get in the bloody ocean already,” Crowley mumbled. Together, they made their way over the stone expanse to where the olive-wood chair stood at the ready. Aziraphale manifested a matching table to sit beside it, and was carefully undressing, folding her suit neatly as she went. Crowley, of course, simply sat down, then slid to sit on the side of the deck, their feet in the water, legs kicking a little against the swells of waves. It was high tide, and the water came right up to the edge of the deck in a very pretty effect.

“All right, love, I'm set.” Aziraphale sat down beside them, her hand over theirs, and smiled over. Her round tummy rested on her thighs, and her breasts lay soft and sweet. Sitting spread her hips out so they brushed against Crowley's legs, and Crowley was _so gone_. They leaned over to kiss Aziraphale soft, one hand coming up, just hovering in midair, with too many choices of where to touch first. They settled on the upper curve of her belly, the sweet delta between her breasts, and Aziraphale sighed and leaned into the kiss at the touch.

“You _really_ love my roundest bits,” she murmured, soft, still and always a little astonished.

“I love _all_ of you,” Crowley murmured back, and smiled into her mouth. “But yes, especially the roundest bits.” They pulled back and grinned. “C'mon, we can kiss anytime.”

“We're on holiday, we can swim anytime too!” Aziraphale protested, laughing, but she pushed off from where she sat and bobbed into the water, falling under the dark swells for a moment and then popping up, treading water a little awkwardly.

Crowley grinned and launched themself in beside her, sighing happily when the salt water surrounded and supported them, made it easy to swim over to Aziraphale – not that there was much between them – and kiss her soundly before kicking off in a happy chase out into the sea proper.

Aziraphale laughed and chased after her, proving a strong if inelegant swimmer, splashing around a decent amount. It helped when she started splashing Crowley on purpose. This, of course, led to the two of them trying to soak each other, complete with plenty of giggling, being dunked by heavy swells, and tossed gently by the sea. And un-gently by each other, Crowley scoring a real win when she got Aziraphale to flip upside down, those gorgeous legs caught half-kicking, arrayed against the landscape. It was absolutely worth the ducking they got in revenge.

Angel and demon played and rested, floating next to each other, and played again under the bright sky, their bodies sliding together fluidly, always returning to one another, again and again and again.

Eventually, Crowley grew tired and a little swum-out. They kissed Aziraphale and made for shore, letting their angel splash and play as she liked. Personally, they had some sunning to do.

Not a quarter of an hour later, they entirely understood why humans loved holidays. Crowley didn't even particularly have a stressful life, they were  _ that _ self-aware at least, thank you very much, but there was something about the way the sun beat into their bones and heat radiated from the stone that just...released everything. Eased them and softened them. That horrible night when Aziraphale had nearly been discorporated felt like a dream they had dreamed in another dream, so utterly far away from this moment in time. And farther than that, their own fears and sadnesses. That they were too chaotic, not  _ enough _ for her. Older memories, that the two of them would fail at raising the Anti-Christ – well,  _ technically _ they had and that was what had saved the world. The oldest fear of all, that Crowley asked too many questions. All of these things were diaphanous, fleeing before drying salt-water, and the sound of the sea, and the taste of Aziraphale nearby, contented in her paddling about.

In the moment, in the now, pinned between sky and ancient stone, Crowley was softly happy, half-asleep, and lost in peace and stillness.

They must have drifted off, because the sun was noticeably lower in the sky when they sat up, just in time to watch Aziraphale, who absolutely knew how to make an Entrance, walk out of the sea, up the low ramp. 

(Silly Crowley, who had wondered if that had been put there for them, if they  _ had _ to use the chair. It was so clearly so Aziraphale could elegantly enter and leave the ocean. And by God, was she leaving the sea, in such a manner that Crowley actually felt sorry for a major geographical feature.)

The angel was fully lit by golden sun, her hair already drying and springing into little curls, her skin glistening and limned with gold. She even had her wings out, spread and drying, and Crowley's jaw dropped at the sight. Titian could  _ never _ .

Of course, at heart, this was her darling Aziraphale, who could only keep the drama up so long. “Hullo darling!” she called and waved cheerfully. “Word to the wise, don't open your wings on the water! Everything gets a bit heavy and floppy-around.”

Crowley sat up and laughed, stretching, oh yes they had definitely fallen asleep, they still felt dreamy and half-snake, half-human. A tiny miracle and they were in a wheelchair, pushing themself over to greet their angel. Who still looked stunning, more or less against her best efforts.

“Gosh, you're beautiful,” Aziraphale said, and leaned over for a kiss. “Oh, Crowley.”

“You're one to talk,” Crowley told her and grinned. “C'mon, angel, spread your wings out and let them dry.”

“All right, but you're not to groom them yet,” Aziraphale said firmly. “I still need to see what you were doing here earlier.”

“Awww...”

Indeed, she spread her wings, the broad white beauty of them, but didn't sit down with her back nuzzled up to Crowley's knees, in a perfect spot for Crowley to tend her feathers and send her to an adorable, dozy sleep. The  _ nerve _ of her – instead she quickly towelled herself off and dressed again in a simple linen suit, tucking her miraculously-dried wings away.

At least her bra was pretty and lacy, and it lifted her breasts softly, giving them a nice shape and fitting the suit with butch perfection. Which didn't stop Crowley from performatively pouting, themselves into an unexciting cover-up to prove...some point.

Aziraphale winked at them, noticing the outfit change. “Now, don't be sad, darling. You can groom me later, before bed.”

“Really?” Crowley asked, brightening. And laughed at themself. “You shouldn't reward me for being a brat, you know. Thank you. You look nice, by the way.”

“Darling, if I wasn't nice to you when you were being a demonic pill, I'd never be nice to you,” Aziraphale teased, leaning over for another kiss. “You look smashing, too. May I make a small change? Just to try something.”

Crowley nodded, not sure what to expect – certainly not that Aziraphale would gently run her hands down Crowley's body, changing the tailoring of her cover-up so that it fit better on her seated body, no bunching fabric or anything that might get uncomfortable, and preserving the intended lines of the cut.

“Oh!”

Aziraphale winked at her. “Oh, indeed. If you switch back to crutches, I can re-tailor it.”

“Angel...” Crowley held out her hands, and there was some more kissing, and the promise of cuddles later, but I want see what you added, demon!

“Well, now it's just going to be a disappointment,” Crowley complained, but they led Aziraphale down through the half-hidden entrance.

They descended into Eden, or something rather like it, Aziraphale thought, gazing around her, breath utterly taken away by what Crowley had made in just a few minutes. The air was already cooler, full of the smell of green and growing things and oh, the _roses_. Roses everywhere, their perfume heady as they descended together to the grotto floor.

“Crowley...” Azirpahale turned around slowly in a circle, clearly not sure what she wanted to take in first. The flowers blooming everywhere, or the little waterfall, or the perfect little pool, or the cool moss under her feet, the peek of blue sky above. “This is magic,” she breathed. “Oh darling, you made this for us?”

“Um. Yes?” Crowley raked their hand through their hair, a little shy suddenly. It was the best of their work, and they were proud of it, but to see Aziraphale so breathless with joy was...kind of a lot. Maybe it had been a mistake to do their house the hard way. To not just give themselves unalloyed pleasure?

They watched Aziraphale laugh, going over to the roses and smelling them, touching the fat blooms, cooing over the white ones, the ones Crowley knew were her favourites, but not neglecting the other colours at all. They were content to settle by the little pool, and watch their angel love the garden.

Aziraphale made a slow circuit around the little space; it didn't take very long, even lingering to touch velvet petals or admire a soft fern. The moss was thick and spongy and so nice to walk on, and she was pleased to see that Crowley could reach everything and go anywhere easily. Finally, she came around to the little pool again and settled on the rocky edge of it, leaning in to kiss her love.

“It's perfect.” She smiled and reached out, curling her fingers around Crowley's, simply holding her hand. “You're an artist. I mean it.”

“Awww...”

“I _mean_ it,” Aziraphale repeated gently. “Thank you, for this beautiful garden.” She grinned. “And my other beautiful garden, for that matter.”

“You helped with that one! You don't need to thank me,” Crowley protested.

“I do, actually.” Aziraphale favoured them with a soft smile, and Crowley realised how _relaxed_ she was. Still sitting ramrod-straight with perfect posture, obviously, but she was laughing and smiling, and the lines around her eyes were from smiling, rather than anxiety. She teased easily now, slept deep, and was quietly, softly confident in a way Crowley had never seen before. Not even a few months ago, when they'd first moved in.

“You really don't,” Crowley said, swallowing the lump in their throat. “It was...a pleasure. Working the land. 's _ours_ now.”

Aziraphale's face lit up. “Oh! That's why it was worth it!” She laughed, and explained at Crowley's puzzled look. “This, here – it's so beautiful. It's truly perfect,” she said, gesturing around them. “I had been wondering if we ought to have done this from the start, to just miracle things as we liked them. But it wouldn't be the same, you're right.” She grinned, and touched her bicep. “Far less flirting from you, for one.”

“I would not give up you working in the garden stripped to waist and sweating and lifting heavy things for _anything_ ,” Crowley's id announced to the world. “Um.”

Aziraphale just laughed. “And I wouldn't give up spending _hours_ with you, picking the plaster off of our bedroom walls,” she agreed. “Truly. We did the right thing. It's ours now, in a way nothing's ever been before, isn't it?”

“Not even the shop?” Crowley asked, surprised.

“No – I didn't build that, for one,” Aziraphale explained. “I know it as well as I know my own body, but it doesn't have my sweat and sore muscles and...and the _memories_ , from the bones on up, the way our house does. I don't love it any less, but it's different.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said softly. “The house is ours. I'm glad we did it the way we did, even if it was annoying and hard.”

Aziraphale just smiled at them, and leaned in for a kiss. “Me too, love.”


	28. Chapter 28

Two weeks eased by in a dream of golden sunlight. They swam, and played, Aziraphale read and Crowley added touches to her garden, or the house, always surprising her angel with something new and comforting and comfortable. She largely did not bother with clothes, to hearty angelic approval. Conversely, Aziraphale remained in crisp linen suits except for when she was swimming – or letting Crowley undress her.

Soft flickers of candlelight, well after the sun had set, and Crowley gradually disrobing her had become a nightly ritual, and this the last night of their holiday was no different.

(Of course, it wasn't like their rental period was up, or they had to return to jobs. But it seemed to be part of the agreement; you could only live in paradise a little while. And they missed their wild home and walks in the fields and pub lunches, to say nothing of their children and  _ their _ lives.)

Crowley knelt on the bed, undoing the buttons on Aziraphale's waistcoat, marvelling that she could be comfortable in so many layers. “I'm in just my skin and practically roasting,” she complained.

Aziraphale touched her arm, skin turned gold in the summer sun, and of course the generous freckles across her face and shoulders.

“Well, I'm generally not moving, and doing so in the shade,” she teased, and shifted so her waistcoat could come off and Crowley start on her shirt. “I certainly strip down to bathe.”

“Yes, you do,” Crowley leered. She'd even got a naked Aziraphale into her little garden, the two of them lying on the moss and kissing lavishly, tumbling each other over and laughing, cuddling, kissing again. Aziraphale's skin had tasted cool and green and lush in that magic place, and Crowley smiled, remembering.

Lazy as she was about undressing Aziraphale, she did soon reveal a pretty, longline bra, all see-through net and lace, strikingly femme against Aziraphale's butch clothes. “Oh!”

Aziraphale smiled softly at her. “I thought a little treat would be right.”

The dark of her nipples was visible through the netting, and the lace stretched and curved over the top of her bosom. It was pale pink, and little lace flowers and leaves cascades down, tracing her ribs and the upper curve of her belly. Crowley bent her head and kissed just where a little silver charm lay between her breasts.

“You like?” Aziraphale asked sweetly.

“As though you have to ask,” Crowley groaned. She treated herself, just a moment, to kissing one breast, then the other. “You beauty. How are you always so beautiful?”

“Strong words from someone who's seen me covered in sweat and scratches and plaster dust,” Aziraphale teased.

“You were beautiful then, too,” Crowley said. “Handsome.”

Aziraphale giggled. “There's a whole other half of me, you know.”

Crowley moaned, and got Aziraphale's shirt off, flung to wherever. Next were her belt and her trousers, shoes and socks already of course done away with. Aziraphale stood, and Crowley sat on the edge of the bed, and slowly lowered the heavy linen.

“Oh, angel.” Lace and silk, the shortest pair of shorts imaginable, the darker shadow of Aziraphale's pubic hair visible behind a great lace vee, white silk cascading down her hips, the waistband high on her tummy. And when she turned around to pick up her trousers, the sweet curves of her bottom, as the knickers rode up a little. “What treats you give me,” Crowley managed, before leaning over and biting that soft, round arse.

“Crowley!”

“I couldn't resist! I am the _serpent of Eden_ , when you put something round and delicious in front of me, I eat it!” Crowley protested.

Aziraphale was almost helpless with laughter, folding her trousers neatly and putting them aside, then walking back to bed. Her hips didn't much sway when she walked; that was Crowley's territory. But she was beautiful, her curves all shown off, the stretch marks on her belly and breasts and thighs gleaming gold in the light.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Crowley drawled, and somehow skittered her tangle of limbs that was passing for her body back onto the bed, lying back and holding out her arms. She had grown tired of obvious genitals, and between her legs was smooth again. Her chest could pass for small breasts or slightly large pectorals, depending on what one wanted to see.

Aziraphale's face softened to look at her, predictably. Soppy old angel. “Oh, my darling. You are exquisite. Perfect. I wish I could carry off being sexless as well as you.”

“Not exactly sexless,” Crowley corrected. “Rather, all of the genders. And you do a very good job, angel. Just not as obvious about it as I am.”

Aziraphale smiled and bowed her head, asking forgiveness for her error, and of course getting her hand caught, Crowley tugging her to come lie on the bed. Only a little bit so she could get her hands on Aziraphale's bosom and bum.

They kissed, and touched each other, kissed some more, bodies easing together in the soft candlelight and the sea breeze. Crowley squeezed and nibbled and squeezed some more and licked and kissed to her heart's content.

And in return, her angel, wide-eyed, touched her hair and her face. Kissed tender and soft, like Crowley was something fragile. Something worth protecting. She was so  _ gentle _ ; while Crowley basically gnawed at her soft white thigh, Aziraphale's fingertips caressed Crowley's hip. Crowley kissed her nipple through the sheer net, tasting fabric and areola, and Aziraphale gently, carefully, avoided all the places Crowley didn't like to be touched, breasts and sex (or lack thereof) and what passed for her arse.

Her hips were an unholy mess, and Aziraphale kissed them. Kissed her spine that wanted to be a snake's, kissed her strong legs and wiry arms. Crowley was going to be more freckle than skin for the next few days, and she was okay with that. Fine, when Aziraphale kissed her throat and caressed her flat belly, murmuring about how between skin and hair, Crowley lit up the night more than any candle could, more than the moon was doing.

She couldn't help but moan a little, and sigh, and arch her back. Her hips did a stupid thing, and Aziraphale helped her get them back into joint, and went right on kissing and caressing and adoring. It was a beautiful, terrible thing to be the focus of so much angelic love.

She was even kind when Crowley couldn't stop a tear or two. Just kissed them away and, good girl that she was, brought Crowley's hands to her breasts. She was kneeling over Crowley, her bosom heavy between them, and Crowley squeezed, and kissed her, and they giggled softly together.

“There are so many things that could have happened, and we wouldn't have this,” Crowley tried to explain. 

“But they did happen. And other things _could_ have happened, and we'd still have this,” Azirpahale reminded her. “There are a lot of paths to this moment, o serpent of Eden.”

That, more than anything, was comforting. There were so many possible paths to them being in love, building a life together, winding up in this little slice of paradise. Aziraphale could have tumbled from the ladder and hit the ground, and they would still be here. Crowley could have driven them home safe and sound that awful night a few weeks ago, and they would still be here. They could have never moved to the countryside. Crowley could have driven Aziraphale home that night with the holy water, or driven him to a layby where they could, somewhat ahead of schedule, have kissed for hours. Even older than that. They could have not met in Rome, but caught up again a few years later. Maybe they didn't both sneak onto the Ark, or maybe Aziraphale never found Crowley's stash of children and helped care for them. So many maybes, and still they would be here and now, bodies twined together, so deeply in love there weren't words for it.

Crowley smiled, impossibly comforted, safer than she ever thought it possible for her to feel. “I love you, angel.”

“And I love you, demon.” Aziraphale smiled, and tapped her nose softly. “Are you ready for sleep?”

Crowley shook her head. “I want to stay up all night with you, please,” she said. “Our last night on holiday.” She caressed the edge of Aziraphale's bra, the pretty lace, and the soft bend of the edge of her ribs under it. “Let's go swimming in the night sea. Later, though. I want to enjoy this a little longer.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Of course, Crowley. Anything you like.” She kissed her, hand cupped around her jaw, and kissed her again. “Love, I can carry you to the sea if you want?”

Crowley shook her head quickly. “No. I'm sorry, Aziraphale. Not when I'm like this.” She smiled weakly. “I know it makes zero sense. You can haul me around as much as you like when my legs are working sensibly, but...not now, please. I'd rather use my chair.”

“No, it makes perfect sense,” Aziraphale said. “I am sorry if I offended you, truly.”

“You didn't,” Crowley said, and smiled. “Well, fuck, look at us being so good to each other.”

“I know, we're using our words. It's very stupid,” Aziraphale giggled, and kissed her. “I love you so much. We're...we're really good for each other, aren't we? I mean, I know you're the best thing to ever happen to me, but I'm not so bad for you, am I?”

“Principality Aziraphale, you shut your fucking gob,” Crowley said, her voice suddenly thick. “You are...you are...you're better than I could ever dream of!” She hugged her hard, quicksilver emotions changing again. “You're the best thing to ever happen to _me_ ,” she mumbled. “You love me. Do you have any idea what a miracle that is? A _real_ miracle?”

“Shh, darling.” Aziraphale stroked her back. “Easy. I do love you, so very much. Sweet demon, we _are_ good for each other.” She was quiet a moment. “I was so hard to love, for so many years.”

“You never were,” Crowley said. “Aziraphale, please believe me. You were never, ever hard to love.” She smiled and kissed her. “Annoying and aggravating, yes. But never hard to love.”

“Oh...” Aziraphale smiled softly. “Good.”

“And me?”

“Loving you was frightening for a long time,” Aziraphale admitted. “But that didn't stop me, not really.” She smiled, and touched Crowley's face. “I've genuinely been good for you?”

“Really. I promise. I can't put it into words, you know how I am. But you're my best friend. I love you. Of course you've helped me to be.” Crowley swallowed hard. “To be the kind of friend and lover and...person. I want to be.”

Aziraphale just smiled, and touched her ring – the one Crowley had given her – to her beloved's cheek, caressing the sharp cheekbone. “Come on, darling. Let's go swim under the moon.”

Aziraphale shed the few scraps of fabric she wore, and they made their way to the edge where rock met sea, Crowley pushing herself and Aziraphale walking beside her, keeping pace with her so that they sat at the same time, and slid into the inky-black water together, in perfect tandem.

The water was cool under the night sky, and Crowley shivered for a moment, but swimming soon had her comfortable again, the two of them not playing this time, just moving through the sea, swimming strong out, out, until they were a good ways from shore.

They kissed, of course, holding one another, a small miracle keeping them bobbing in the water. Nice kisses, and Crowley's arms were tight around Aziraphale's waist, and the same in return. But better than kissing, even, was lying back together on the bobbling sea, holding hands and gazing up at the infinite sky, at the stars scattered across it, the band of the Milky Way visible. One would have to hold hands, in the face of such vastness, even if one was an immortal, holy/unholy being.

Crowley watched the sky, and smiled – she had been there, had played in those stars. Had unfolded into her true form among those points of light and whirled through the cosmos entangled with her angel's true form, a snake and wings and glittering rings of gold. She remembered, and her body began to change, the halfway point where she was a vast snake.

“Oh, beauty,” Aziraphale whispered, when Crowley had to pull her hand away because soon she wouldn't have a hand. Once she'd transformed, into a vast monster of a snake, she wound herself under and not quite around Aziraphale, not wanting to crush by accident, but so that Aziraphale could hold on, and rest her head atop Crowley's, a precious, laughing weight. 

They floated and touched, and Crowley shrank down to a size that could wind about Aziraphale's torso. By silent agreement, Aziraphale began to swim again, returning home, moving through the water silently and easily.

She pulled them up out of the sea, and sat for a moment, Crowley still coiled around her body, head under her chin for the moment. Aziraphale caressed glittering scales, and bumped her head gently on Crowley's, a little snakey affection. She paused, breathed deep once more, tasted the sea and the air and the heat off the mountains. She couldn't even pick out the love; it suffused everything too much.

She smiled and rose, pushing Crowley's chair back to their little bedroom, settling it by Crowley's side of the bed, easy to get into should she want it in the morning. And, seawater drying on her skin and Crowley still weaving around her body, Aziraphale settled in bed to think and be silent and wait for the dawn with her demon.

When they came back to England the next day, autumn had come in their absence, striking against the vestiges of summer they carried with them. Aziraphale had got a little sunburnt, her cheeks pink and slightly raw-feeling. Crowley was a night sky of freckles, and was only sorry that it was too chilly to gad about in barely any clothes to show off the sprays of angel kisses on her legs and her arms and her everything. She settled, annoyed, for parading about in their bedroom, showing off for the very person who'd put them all there, which was all right, but lacked a certain element of  _ bragging _ she would have liked.

But they were home to crisp air and sunsets noticeably earlier, fat grain being harvested and the soft rattle of wind in trees that would soon change colour. Mornings grew chilly again, and freckles and sunburn faded as they returned to their life of gardening, cooking, reading. They went up to London for a long weekend and visit with their charges, but all was quiet on that front too, as people returned to school, or settled into work after long holidays or just the feeling that the year was turning, softly and inevitably, towards winter.

And when they came back, the Bentley full of books as usual, Aziraphale looked around and declared it was time to put together the final room in their house.

They started the next evening by simply wiping down all the shelves and washing the windows. Crowley's hips were starting to remember they were in a human body again, and they had moved from wheelchair or two crutches, to a single crutch, to only needing it sometimes and perhaps soon not at all – for the moment, at least.

(“This isn't me getting better,” they had warned.

“I never thought it was, darling,” Aziraphale said patiently. “For one, you weren't sick. Crowley, I've seen your body change all summer. I'll see it change again, over and over. Please trust me that I understand. And that I love you consistently, in case you need reminding.”

Crowley had just thrown themself at her. It was the only sensible response.)

They helped Aziraphale dust and clean and make a small repair to a shelf here or there, but generally the library was ready, especially once there were thick rugs in place, and a big wooden desk lavishly carved and adorned and destined to remain tidy for, at most, forty-five minutes. Of course there were soft, deep chairs before the fire, and a two-seater if they wanted to cuddle.

This particular evening, Crowley had opted to settle in the most comfortable chair that was closest to the fire. They were half-upside down, noodling away on their phone after taking quick snapshots of a particularly handsome Aziraphale and sending them to all their lesbians just to irritate them. And brag.

Aziraphale was pointedly ignoring all of this, opting instead to chip away at some of the books that needed shelving. She followed a categorization system entirely her own and impenetrable to all others, and liked it that way. Sure, Crowley had the sense not to offer to help, but just in case. Boundaries were very healthy things.

She climbed a tiny step stool to reach the topmost shelves, and couldn't hide a smile at soft whisper of demonic energy. Aziraphale couldn't fall if she wanted to – and she absolutely did not want to. For one, it might muss her suit.

In celebration of the season, she was wearing a light tweed suit. She had felt  _ quite _ the country lady as she'd picked the fabric out at her tailor's shop. Trousers and a fitted jacket, of course, and a gold silk waistcoat to go with it. Handsome brogues and a white Oxford shirt completed the look, along with tiny gold studs in her ears. She moved easily in the perfectly-fitted clothes, and felt very handsome indeed, her curls even behaving themselves for once. It was very nice to look so good for her beloved, as she moved about the library.

It was just as she'd daydreamed. A soft fire crackling away, driving off the chill breath of the air. The sunset deep and red out of doors, their garden already in black shadow. Crows crying to each other over fields now gone sere and bare after the harvest. Aziraphale could practically  _ smell _ the baking bread and apple cider being pressed. The village was holding a harvest fete next weekend; of course they'd go and try their luck at the tombola and buy toffee apples and all the good things that meant the earth was about to go to sleep for a few months.

She smiled to herself while shelving a whole stack of Henry James. Aziraphale was still something of a purist, and believed ghost stories were for Christmas, but it was never a bad season to re-read  _ The Turn of the Screw _ . Maybe she'd read it aloud. She looked over one shoulder to see one of Crowley's feet sticking up over the top of the chair, the other slung over one arm. Her dear heart, comfortable as could be; and wasn't that a soothing sight? 

Aziraphale closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself extend beyond her body. The bright glow of love by the fire, infinitely burning, her demon who she'd made this incredible life with. And beyond – the secret passageway that had held treasure, Crowley even now wearing a pair of earrings from the jewellery Edith and Evangeline had left to them. The bathroom they'd worked on together, now all pretty blue tiles and perfect for a winter shower. Extend to the rest of the house; Crowley's study, comfortable and comforting, the kitchen that hadn't needed much more than a scrub, but where they ate together happily. The passageway Crowley had proudly painted all on her own, and the entry hall they'd done up, their first project. It was full of flourishing plants now, and they often settled by the fire to argue cheerfully with one another. The conservatory where they had let their miracles fly with its always-hot bath and rain shower and fragrances and the power to soothe every hurt.

And finally, always, their bedroom, the vast centre of their lives, where even when they'd quarrelled they wound up together, like as not with grumpy apologies that turned into cuddles in the big, soft bed, that turned into both of them drifting off, tangled together. They had sweated and swore, bled and worked their fingers sore, but the house and the garden were theirs, fully theirs, and Aziraphale shook herself from her reverie and moved onto the Thomas Mann novels, the house and even her Crowley quiet – for the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and we're done!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


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